?/0 



Twenty • Wessons 



IN 



Reading. 



By S. B. TODD, A. M 



T 



m 



Twenty Lessons in Reading, 



FIFTY CLASSIFIED SELECTIONS, 



FOR USE IN 



KANSAS NORMAL INSTITUTES, 



HIGH SCHOOLS, NORMAL SCHOOLS, AND PRIVATE STUDY. 



t 



By S. B. TODD, A. M. 



"Every teacher should be a good reader. Not more than one in every hun- 
dred among teachers can now be called a good reader." — Page. 








TOPEKA, KANSAS: 

GEO. W. CRANE & CO., PRINTERS AND BINDERS. 

1890- 



t 



^* 



\ 



Coi'VRrcHT. 1890, by S. B. Todd. 









CONTENTS. 



PART I. — Principles and Illustrations. 



Subject. Page. 

Reading — 

1. Oral 7 

2. Silent 7 

Requisites of a Good Reader.. 7 
Calisthenic and Gesture Ex- 
ercises 8 

Breathing Exercises 10 

Diacritical Marks 12 

Equivalents 12 

Examples for Practice 12 

Articulation — 

1. Elementary sounds 13 

2. Pronunciation 13 

3. Syllabication 13 

4. Accent 13 

5. Syllable 13 

Eaults in Articulation 13 

Examples of Difficult Articu- 

l atiox — 

1. Vocals 13 

2. Subvocals 15 

3. Aspirates 16 

Suggestions 18 

Eorm of Voice — 

1. Effusive 19 

2. Expulsive 20 

3. Explosive 20 

Quality of Voice — 

1. Pure 20 

a. Natural 20 

b. Orotund 21 

c. Oral 23 

2. Impure 20 

a. Aspirate 23 

b. Pectoral 21 



Subject. 

c. Guttural 

d. Falsetto 

e. Nasal 

Force — 

1. Suppressed 

2. Subdued 

3. Moderate 

4. Energetic 

5. Vehement 

6. Sustained 

Stress — 

1. Radical 

a. Unimpassioned. 

b. Impassioned 

2. Final 

3. Median 

4. Compound 

5. Thorough 

6. Intermittent 

Pitch — 

1. Very high 

2. High 

3. Middle 

4. Low 

5. Very low 

Inflection — 

1. Rising 

2. Falling 

3. Circumflex 

4. Semitone 

5. Second 

6. Third 

7. Fifth 

8. Octave 



Page. 



25 
25 
25 

26 

26 
27 

28 
28 
29 

29 
30 
30 
31 
31 
31 
32 
32 

33 
33 
33 
33 
33 

34 
34 
35 
35 
35 
35 
35 
35 



CONTENTS. 



Subject. Page. 

Time — 

1. Kate 36 

a. Very slow 36 

b. Slow 36 

g. Moderate 36 

d. Brisk 37 

e. Kapid 37 

2. Pause 37 

a. Grammatical 37 

b. Rhetorical 37 

c. Emotional 38 

3. Quantity 38 

a. Long 38 

b. Moderate 38 



Subject. Page. 

c. Short 38 

Emphasis — 

1. Antithetic 39 

2. Cumulative 39 

3. Absolute 39 

Modulation — 

1. Impersonation 41 

2. Imitative modulation 41 

Gesture — 

1. Position 42 

2. Movement 42 

Primary Reading 45 

Methods with Advanced 

Classes 47 



PART II. — Selections for Practice. 

Narrative and Descriptive — 

The Ride of Jennie McNeal. Carleton. 

Who was the Gentleman? Anon. 

The Bridal of Malahide Griffin. 

Anecdote of Judge Marshall Winchester Republican. 

Earnest, Serious, and Pathetic — 

The Prisoner for Debt Whittier. 

Behind Time Freeman Hunt. 

The Author of Sweet Home Anon. 

The Old Arm Chair Cook. 

Woodman, Spare that Tree Morris. 

Little Bennie Anon. 

The Drummer Boy Lynn. 

A Legend of 1796 Bret Harte. 

Claude Melnotte's Apology Lytton. 

Papa's Letter Anon. 

Our Folks Lynn. 

Asleep at the Switch Hoey. 

Little Jim ".'. Anon. 

Sublime, Dramatic, and Oratorical — 

The Death of Hamilton Nott. 

An Order for a Picture Alice Cary. 

Wreck of the Hesperus : Longfellow. 

God's First Temples.. Bryant. 

Marco Bqzzaris Halleck. 

Lady Clare ....Tennyson. 

The Modern Cain Anon. 

Parrhasius and the Captive Anon. 

Rienzi to the Romans Anon. 

Toussaint L'Ouverture Wendell Phillips. 



49 
51 
52 
53 

54 

56 
57 
57 
58 
58 
60 
61 
62 
63 
65 
66 
67 



68 
70 

72 
74 
75 
77 
79 
80 
81 



CONTENTS. 5 

Old Man in the Model Church Yates. 82 

The Red Jacket George M. Baker. 83 

Battle of Waterloo ....Byron. 84 

Maclaine's Child Mackay. 85 

Liberty and Union ....Webster. 87 

The Charcoal Man Trowbridge. 88 

Absalom N. P. Willis. 89 

Emmett's Yindication Robert Emmett. 91 

Cassius Against Csesar Shakespeare. 93 

North American Indians Sprague. 94 

Humorous — 

The Minister's Grievances Max Adeler. 95 

In the Catacombs Anon. 96 

Socrates Snooks Anon. 97 

The Bald-Headed Man.... ..Read. 98 

The New Church Organ Carleton. 99 

The Flood and the Ark Anon. 100 

Agnes, I Love Thee Anon. 102 

Irish Dialect — 

First Adventures in England Anon. 102 

The Irishman's Panorama Jas. Burdette. 103 

Reflections on the Needle Anon. 104 

Negro Dialect — 

Uncle Dan'l's Apparition and Prayer Clemens. 104 

On the Shores of Tennessee Ethel Beers. 106 

German Dialect — 

Hoffenstein's Bugle New Orleans Democrat. 108 

Dot Maid mid Hazel Hair Anon. 109 

Yoman's Righdts Chas. F. Adams. 109 

Cockney Dialect — 

Sam's Letter... From "The American Cousin." 110 

A Medley Arranged by Sallie McHenry. Ill 



PREFACE. 

That reading is poorly taught we must admit; but that it can 
and should be better taught we all agree. 

One of the chief difficulties met by the institute instructors 
is, that there has been no available text book, brief, practical, 
concise, at the same time comprehensive enough to stimulate 
the student, and in price within the reach of all. 

There has been an honest endeavor to supply that want in 
this little work. 

While definitions and principles have by no means been neg- 
lected, a prominent place has been given to drill and examples 
for practice; since, in reading, knowledge without practice is 
dead. 

The illustrative examples and selections for practice have 
been chosen with care from among those used with most success 
by the author in normal work, in the school room, and with pri- 
vate classes. 

No claim is made to originality, the matter having been se- 
lected from the great mass of common stock. 

It is believed that the teacher who carefully follows the di- 
rections given herein, and carries them out in his school room, 
will himself improve and will greatly benefit his students. 

A very important matter is, for the teacher to grow; and 
these exercises and drills will be just as valuable to him as to 
the pupil. 

Fellow teacher, shall we not see to it that, as applied to 
Kansas teachers, the quotation on the title page is untrue^ 
Shall we not strive to have reading occupy its true place as the 
most important study in the curriculum of any school? For 
you this booklet was compiled; to you it is dedicated; if it helps 
you just a little, if it gives you a few new ideas, and inspires 
you to a little greater effort in this neglected work, its mission 
will have been accomplished. 

Sterling, Kansas, June 24, 1890. 



PART I. 

LESSON I. 

Reading is conveying to our own minds or the minds of 
others thought or feeling as seen expressed in written language. 
Oral reading is simply talking what is written. 
Silent reading is a perusal of what is written. 
The requisites of a good reader are : 

1. Proper habits of breathing. 

2. Correct articulation. 

3. A good voice, flexible and under perfect control. 

4. Quick perception of eye and ear. 

5. Flexible muscles, especially of the face. 
6: A vivid imagination. 

7. Good' health, a well developed body, and common sense. 

A few of these are gifts, but most of them may be acquired 
by any one. To help the student in attaining them is the ob- 
ject of these pages. 

The following table of calisthenic and gesture exercises should 
be learned and practiced daily. These exercises will strengthen 
and develop the body, render the muscles flexible and graceful, 
strengthen the vocal organs, and improve the health. 

This table contains a few calisthenic exercises, but from these 
the number can be increased almost at will by the ingenious 
teacher or student. 

Indian clubs furnish, perhaps, the best exercise for developing 
the chest and improving the form, but the movements cannot 
be learned without a teacher. Two-pound clubs are heavy 
enough for a beginner. 



8 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

A good practice for one whose shoulders are forward is to 
clasp the hands behind and then touch the elbows, keeping the 
hands tightly clasped. 

Another good practice is to put the hands together in front, 
palms facing, arms outstretched, hands at height of shoulder, 
then carry them around and strike the backs together behind 
the back. 

The calisthenic exercises given in the institute course of 
study are excellent. 

VOCAL EXERCISES. 

The best vocal sounds for practice are, a, a, a, a, e, e, i, i, o, 
o, 6, u, u, u, oi, ou. 

In giving these sounds, fix the eyes upon some object at a 
distance and throw the voice, as it were, toward this object. 
Give the sounds in all the different degrees of pitch and force ; 
also the different slides from a semitone to an octave on each 
sound. Give them in the different rates, with long, short, etc. , 
quantity and pause. Alternate, - giving the sounds of the first 
letter very high, of the next letter very low, and so forth, using 
all the letters. Use the same plan with force, rate, slides, etc. 
Use only the pure qualities of voice in these exercises. 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 





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10 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

LESSON II. 

BREATHING EXERCISES. 

Breathing exercises increase the lung capacity; develop the 
muscles of the abdomen and diaphragm, thus giving strength 
and volume to the voice; improve the health; teach us to econ- 
omize the breath, to use the correct form of breath, and to take 
breath at the proper places in reading. 

Stand erect; heels together; feet at an angle of. forty-five de- 
grees; hands on sides, fingers touching behind. 

1. Inhale slowly and silently through the nostrils while the 
instructor counts ten; exhale through nostrils for same length 
of time. Eepeat. 

2. Inhale while instructor counts ten; exhale on aspirate h; 
then on ha; then on he; then on haw. 

3. Inhale; exhale on h, ha, lie, haw, all with one breath, 
pausing after each syllable. 

4. Inhale; exhale on o prolonged ten seconds; twenty sec- 
onds; thirty seconds. Practice will enable you to prolong the 
sound to fifty seconds. 

5. Inhale; exhale, giving the aspirate h three times like a 
whispered cough. 

6. Inhale; exhale with mouth wide open, with organs of 
throat somewhat contracted, making a clear, whispered sound in 
the throat, resembling the sound made when lifting, only pro- 
longed to as great a length as possible. 

7. Inhale; exhale on the sound of /, of m, of r; on the hiss- 
ing sound of s, holding tongue close to roof of mouth. 

8. Inhale; exhale, counting as many as possible without tak- 
ing breath, counting one per second. 

9. Inhale; repeat in a whisper as much of a poem as you 
can with one breath. 

10. Inhale; exhale on ha, ha, ha, etc. 

11. Laughing exercise. Same as last, only laugh ha, ha, ha, 
etc., till the breath is exhausted. 

12. Catch breath exercise. Inhale; count one, two, three 
(take short breath quickly), four, five, six (take breath), etc. 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. \\ 

13. Inhale; exhale on ah, letting breath flow out as smoothly 
and gently as possible. This is the effusive form of breath. 

14. Inhale; exale on ha, with a rush of breath, forcibly and 
vigorously. This is the expulsive form of breath. 

15. Inhale; exhale on havj, with an explosive sound, giving 
the stroke of the glottis like a pistol shot; explosive form. 
Give these three forms of breath on the aspirate h. 

SUGGESTIONS. 

"The amount of work a person can do is not so much de- 
pendent on his muscle as on his breathing capacity." 

For variety, the arms may be folded behind the back. Al- 
ways inhale through nostrils, with lips closed when possible. 

Kever raise the shoulders in these exercises. 

When exhaling, place a candle two inches in front of mouth; 
the flame should not vibrate. Enough breath should be used to 
make the sound, no more. 

The laughing exercise is excellent for strengthening the ab- 
dominal muscles. 

In all the breathing exercises where counting is necessary, 
count one to a second. 

It is a good plan to fill the lungs and gently pat the chest while 
holding the breath. * Inflate the lungs to the fullest capacity, then 
swallow two or three times without letting any breath escape. 

4 ; A bad reader does not take breath often enough and spends 
it too freely; he throws this precious treasure out of the window, 
as it were, squandering it as a spendthrift his gold.*' — Legouve. 

LESSOX III. 

TABLE OF DIACRITICAL MARKS. 

VOCALS. 

A E IandY and 00 U 

Macron (-) ape ' be, they ice, my old, moon tune 

Breve (w) cat met it, hymn not, foot up 

Circumflex (-)... fair there j nor urn 

Two dots ( ••)....' arm, ball machine do rude 

One dot ( • ) ask, what done, wolf lull 

Tilde (~) .'.. her stir '.. ...*..... 



12 



TWENTY LESSONS IN BEADING, 

SUBVOCALS AND ASPIRATES. 





C and Ch 


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N 


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get 
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ink 


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One dot ( • ) 


Cedilla (,) 


cede, chaise 












i 







TABLE OF EQUIVALENTS. 
A — ai, ei, ey, au, ay, ea, ao, eigh, aye. 
A — ai, ua, al. 
A — ah, ea, au, ua, e. 
A — 6. 

A — au, aw, ou, awe. 
A — ua. 

A — e, ai, ea, hei, ay. 
E — ee, i", ea, ey, eo, oe, uay, ie, ei. 
E — ie, ei, u, ue, eo, ea, ay, ai, a. 
E — e, ea, i, ue, y. 
I— ie, y, aye, igh, ai, ei, uy, oi. 
T— ia, ie, y, ai, ay, ei, o, u, ui. 
O — oe, au, eo, oa, oo, ow, ou, owe, ough. 
— u, do, ou. 

— oe, oo, ou, ew, wo, u, ue, ui. 
U — ew, eaii, ieu, iew, ue, eii, iih, you. 

In the following list of words all these equivalents are used; 
let the student arrange them according to the sound: 

Aim, heinous, whey, gauge, pray, steak, gaol, eight, aye, plaid, 
guarantee, algebra, hurrah, hearth, laundry, guard, sergeant, not, 
all, pause, awful, ought, awe, quaff, ere, stair, swear, their, prayer, 
earn, teeth, police, sea, key, people, Caesar, quay, field, receive, 
bird, guerdon, myrtle, heifer, friend, guess, bury, heaven, leopard, 
says, again, many, vie, sky, aye, high, aisle, sleight, buy, choir, 
carriage, sieve, hymn, mountain, Tuesday, foreign, women, min- 
ute, quilt, toe, hautboy, yeoman, oats, door, tow, four, owe, dough, 
pull, book, would, shoe, boot, tour, grew, two, true, fruit, few, 
beauty, adieu, view, avenue, feud, buhl, you. 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 13* 

LESSON IV. 

ARTICULATION. 

Articulation is the utterance of the elementary sounds, and 
the joining of these sounds into syllables, the syllables into 
words, aftid the words into phrases. It embraces pronunciation, 
syllabication, and accent. 

An elementary sound is a distinct sound made by the voice. 

Pronunciation is the utterance of words. 

Syllabication is dividing a word into syllables. 

Accent is a stress of voice applied to one or more syllables 
of a word, to distinguish them from the other syllables of the 
same word. 

A syllable is a word, or part of a word, uttered by one im- 
pulse of the voice. 

The most common faults in articulation are: Giving incorrect 
sounds to letters, omitting sounds, carelessness with respect to 
unaccented syllables, the omission or imperfect utterance of 
the first or the last syllable or sound of a word, and the over- 
lapping of words in sentences. 

All but the lasb are also faults in pronunciation. 

The exercises given below contain words in which the ele- 
mentary sounds are hard to pronounce, or are commonly mis- 
pronounced. Under each elementary sound blanks are left, 
which are to be filled in by the student, choosing the words with 
which he has difficulty. Some of these words, and the sen- 
tences containing examples of difficult articulation, should be 
practiced daily. 

I. VOCALS. 

A macron, marked a — Ma'ry, prai'rie, pa/tron, maintain', ap- 
paratus, a/pricot, may'or, vaga/ry, gra'tis, stra/ta. 

A breve, marked a — and, alternate, bar'rel, pag'eant, gran'arj^ 
sat'irist, an'swer, har'row, rail'lery, plaid. 

A two dots above, marked a, — laugh, path, arm, half, Coiora'do, 
pla'no, Neva'da, can't, haunt, bath. 



14 TWENTY LESSONS IN BEADING, 

A two dots below, marked a— ball, talk, sau'cer, cal'dron, 
daughter, wa'ter, want, al'der, caught, tall. 

A dot above, marked a — vast, dance, France, grass, after, past, 
lass, branch, alas', pas' tor. 

A dot below, marked a — was, what, wan'der, swamp, wasp, 
war'rant, wash, quar'rel, swal'low, quar'ry. 

A circumflex, marked a — care, prayer, bear, swear, square, pear, 
fair, dare, par'ent, char'y. 

E macron, marked e — creek, ei'ther, leisure, dre'ary, wea'ry, 
ame'nable, e'quipoise, fe'brile, precedence, re'quiem. 

E breve, marked e — yes, dec'ade, fore'head, deaf, cher'ries, 
fetid, met'ric, again ' (gen), said (sed), egg. 

E tilde, marked e — earn'est, err, were, verb, service, nerve, 
perfect, mer'cy, er'mine, ver'dict. 

E circumflex, marked e — there, e'er, where'fore, their, heir, 
swear, wear, ne'er, therefore, where'as. 

E 1 sub-macron, marked e — they, vein, deign, weight, hein'ous, 
whey, obey', elite', freight, neigh. 

I macron, marked i — Pal'estine, hori'zon, aspir'ant, inquir'y, 
ti'ny, bronchi'tis, car'bine, biog'raphy, long'lived, calli'ope. 

I breve, marked i — Ital'ian, vic'ar, direct', pia'no, strych'nine, 
mas'culine, prohibi'tion, trib'une, fidel'ity, finance'. 

/ tilde, marked I — thirst'y, vir'gin, bird, fir, sir, stir'rup, 
thir'ty, girl, vir'tue, irk'some. 

1 two dots above, marked i — critique', bastile', routine', 
marine', ravine', fatigue', ennui', petite', machine', souvenir'. 

macron, marked o — hoarse, aro'ma, for'ger, mourn'er, coro'na, 
deco'rous, oppo'nent, stor'age, won't, o'rotund. 

breve, marked 6 — dog, flor'in, coffee, don'key, doc'ile, cost, 
fron'tier, com'rade, hov'el, or'ange. 

two dots below, marked o — do, prove, tomb, ado', canoe', 
behove', soup, tour, through, you. 

one dot below, marked o — wolf, bo'som, worst'ed, wo-man, 
couldn't, would, should, wolfish, shouldn't, wouldn't. 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 15 

one dot above, marked 6 — con'jure, doth, bom'bast, plo'ver, 
wor'ry, bomb, bor'ough, dromedary, mongrel, dost. 

circumflex, marked 6 — corn, horse, born, for'ceps, mort'gage, 
or'chard, fortnight, mor'tal, corpse, thorn. 

U macron, marked ii — tune, literature, suit'or, blue, lu'nacy, 
institute, tu r mult, duke, June, neu'ter. 

U breve, marked u. — ctir'ry, currency, ftir'row, bud, cour'age, 
miir'rain, hiir'ry, flurry, ush r er, hur'ricane. 

t/two dots below, marked u —rule, pmd'ish, ruth'less, hurrah', 
truffle, ru'ral, ru'in, bru'in, tru/ant, pru/dent. 

U one dot below, marked u — push, bush, pull, full, bul'let, 
butch'er, pul'pit, pud'ding, puss, pul'ley. 

U circumflex, marked u — curl, urge, turn, sur r geon, mur'der, 
hurl, purse, burst, mur'mur, bur'den. 

Oo macron, marked ob — spoon, soon, root, hoof, roof, hoop, 
food, school, nook, cool. 

Oo breve, marked ob — cook, hook, book, look, tood, wool, 
brook, wobd, took, gobd. 



LESSON Y. 
ii. subvocals (spell phonically). 

h. — babe, ebb, mob, rob, fiber, imbibe, barb, herb. 
' ' The ftar&arous Hu&ert took a bribe 
To kill the royal fta&e." 

d. — died, did, odd, feed, lad, trod, deck, fade. 
"Meadows trim and daisies pied, 
Shallow brooks and rivers wide." 

g. — gig, beg, frog, egg, mug, clog, gray, get. 
"A giddy, giggling girl, her kinsfolk plague, 
Her manners vulvar and her converse va^rue."' 

j.— jump, just, jog, gill., gem, join, rejoice, June. 
"John Jones, the Junior partner, was sent to Jail." 
I. — smile, still, gilt, lull, soil, sale, roll, mill. 
"Zie lightly on her, earth. 
Her step was ftght on thee." 



16 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

m. — mum, maim, moan, vim, tame, dim, rum, time. 

" Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole. 

n. — noun, nine, fine, pain, crown, clean, run, learn. 

"To talk of Tio/iefttity a?i>iihilated was certainly Tio^se/isical enough." 

/'(trilled). — rough, rude, roar, roll, round, rope, raise. 

' ' Rouse, ye Romans ! rouse, ye slaves ! " 

^(smooth). — year, store, deer, oar, fear, tore, cheer. 

v. — vine, leave, love, gave, rave, dove, five, rove. 
"They were vanquished by the valiant foe." 
w. — wild, woe, we, will, want, water, wet, warm. 
"Woe worth the chase ! woe worth the day! 
That cost thy life, my gallant gray." 
"He woed a woman who would never wed." 
y.— yell, young, ye, you, yet, yarn, yoke, youth. 
A yoke of oxen cannot haul yams in a yacht with a yarn rope. 
2 = §.— prize, amazed, gaze, breeze, nose, lose, shoes, those. 

The breeze fanned the blaze, and the prize cheese was soon roasted by the 
boys. 

zh. — pleasure, azure, leisure, rouge, treasurer, glazier, seizure. 
The seizure of the treasure gave him great pleasure. 
?i( before g or 1c). — singing, angry, king, bank, drink, wink. 
" With a clammer, a clauk, a clash, aud a clang." 

x — gz. — exist, example, exhaust, exert, exhale, examination. 
He e.rerted himself to the utmost, but was thoroughly exhausted at the close 
of the e./amination. 

tii. — thine, thither, blithe, baths, with, moths, oaths, laths. 
"As I wake sweet music breaMe 
Above, about, or underneaM." 

III. ASPIRATES. 

f. — life, fife, wolf, thief, calf, off, waif, cuff. 
"But with the/roward he was/ierce as /ire." 
h. — harm, hair, how, hill, had, here, hail, heat. 
"Up a high h\U he Zteaved a 7mge round stoue." 
k = c=ch. — kill, can, kick, track, chyle, come, spike, talk. 
"A blacA rake of curious quality." 
s. — sin, sad, loss, this, cease, sell, office, else. 
"A .snowy. sheet as if each surge upturned a sailor's shroud." 
t. — taunt, gilt, tart, treat, write, shut, light, twit. 
"A /Vll-fale tattling termagant tha£ troubled all the £own." . 






FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 17 

p. — pin, primp, peep, harp, pop, type, keep, sup. 
••Peter Piper picked three £>ecks of prickly, prangly jjears." 

sA==ch. — shell, sham, plush, slush, chaise, chute, rash. wash. 
••She shims sunshine; do you sAim suns7iine?" 

eh. — chime, chop, chill, rich, ditch, church, churl, chew. 
"Charge, Chester, charge; on, Stanley, on." 

ih. — thin, thick, three, truth, thirsty, thankful, teeth, mouth. 
"He thrust t/ivee ?/<ousand ^/nstles trough the thick of his £/mmb." 

x=ks. — vex, flax, relax, wax, stocks, looks, lakes, mocks, 

"Open locks whoever knocA'.y.'* 



LESSOX VI. 

UXACCEXTED SYLLABLES. 

Murdoch says: ' ; Xothing more distinguishes a person of a 
good, from one of a mean, education than the pronunciation of 
the unaccented vowels." 

Rule I. — A, i or y, ending an unaccented syllable, is gen- 
erally short obscure, as abound, abash, extra, agreeable, ca- 
pacious, direct, arena, algebra, cU'vorce, digest, imnute, pyrites, 
util/ty. 

Exception. — If these vowels directly precede an accented 
vowel they are long, as aereal, d/ameter, hyena. 

Rule II. — E. rj or u, ending an unaccented syllable, is gen- 
erally long obscure, as petition, society, ^vent, serene, potato, 
tobacco, history, opposite, philosophy, futility, cataneous, futu- 
rity. 

The article a should be long obscure. 

The article the should be pronounced with the vowel e long 
obscure. A and e long obscure tend toward the sound of i 
breve. 

Rule III. — A, e, i, o, u, y, preceding r in final unaccented 
syllables, have the sound of .e tilde — beggar, arme>r, satyr. 

Rule IV. — Final can is pronounced like en obscure — vil- 
lain, chaplam, barga//?. the e verging toward ii. 

— 2 



18 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

EXAMPLES OF DIFFICULT ARTICULATION. 
" The rain ceaseth and it ceaseth to rain." 

"She uttered a shrill shriek, and shrank from the shriveled form." 
"To obtain either — to obtain neither." 
"He could pay nobody; he could pain nobody." 
"Shoes and socks shock Susan." (Repeat three times.) 
"It was indubitably an abominable eccentricity." 

"The incomprehensibility of the article, etymologically considered, is 
evident." 

"Sad angler; sad dangler." 

"Amidst the mists and coldest frosts, 
With stoutest wrists and loudest boasts. 
He thrusts his fists against the posts, 
And still insists he sees the ghosts." 
"Thirty-three thousand and thirty-three thoughtless youths thronged the 
thoroughfare, and thought that they could thwart three thousand thieves by 
throwing thimbles at them." 

"Kunnel Kirkham Karnes cruelly kept the kiss that his cousin Katheriue 
Kennedy cried for." 

"Thou mangl'dst his writings, trirl'dst'with his affections, huiTdst him from 
his high position." 

SUGGESTIONS. 
"Pronunciation is a true test of culture." 

Of the diacritical marks, the macron and the breve should 
be taught in the first primary, two dots and one dot in the sec- 
ond grade, and the remainder in the third grade. 

No teacher is doing his duty who does not know how to read 
the dictionary, and who allows his pupils to continue to imitate 
him in a careless, slipshod articulation and poor pronunciation. 

Let each one try to discover his own faults of articulation, 
and then practice, practice, practice, till the faults are corrected. 

Pronounce a word correctly more times than you have pro- 
nounced it incorrectly, and you will be likely to use thenceforth 
the correct form. 

The tongue learns habits, and the great point is, to have it 
learn good habits; and if it has learned bad ones, to correct 
them as soon as possible. 

Eternal vigilance is the price of correct pronunciation. 

1 'Articulation, and articulation alone, gives clearness, energy, 
passion, and force. Such is its power that it can even over- 
come deficiency of voice in the presence of a large audience." 
— Legouve. 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 19 

Learning condemns beyond the reach of hope 

The careless churl who speaks of soap for soap: 

She pardoned one, our classic city's boast. 

Who said at Cambridge most instead of most; 

But knit her brows and stamped her angry foot. 

To hear a teacher call a root a root. 

Once more, speak clearly if you speak at all; 

Carve every word before you let it fall; 

Do n' t, like the lecturer, or dramatic star, 

Try over hard to roll the British r: 

Do put your accents in the proper spot; 

Do n't — let me beg you — do n' t say ' ' How i ' ' for ' What '. ' ' 

And when you stick on conversation' s burrs. 

Don't strew the pathway with those dreadful urs. — Holmes. 

It is sometimes a good plan to get the school to help you 
make a rhyme, using words which are commonly mispronounced. 
Here is an example, written by students of the Sterling high 
school and sung to the tune of "Yankee Doodle.' ' It ac- 
complished its object. 

A WAIL OF W"0." 

Some people call a spobn. a spdbn; 
Some call a roof, a roof, sir; 
Some people .often have a "swoon," 
^Hiile others give "reproof," sir. 
In many words we butcher " o " ; 
As hoof, proof, hoop, and hoot, sir; 
But the one mistake that ' s worst of all 
Is pronouncing root, for root, sir. 



LESSOR VII. 

FORM OF VOICE AND QUALITY OF VOICE. 

Voice is sound produced by the passage of air through the 
larynx. 

Form of voice is the mode or manner of utterance. 

The three forms of breath, the effusive, the expulsive, and the 
explosive, when vocalized, give the three corresponding forms 
of voice. 



20 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

In the effusive form, the vocalized breath flows out in a gen- 
tle stream. 

In the expulsive form, the breath is expelled with more or 
less force according to the degree of feeling. 

In the explosive form, the breath hursts forth into explosions 
upon the emphatic words. 

The different forms may be used with any of the other prop- 
erties of voice, and will be further explained and illustrated 
under quality of voice. 

Quality of voice is the kind of voice used in reading and 
speaking. 

There are two qualities of voice: the pure and impure. Pure 
quality is used to express cheerful and ennobling ideas. It has 
three classes: the natural, the orotund, and the oral. 

Impure quality expresses secrecy, hate, awe, and fear. It is 
also used in burlesque and impersonation. Impure quality has 
five classes: aspirate, guttural, pectoral, nasal, and falsetto. 

The natural quality with effusive form is used in tranquil 
emotions, sadness or grief. It is a round, clear, sweet, musical 
tone, and is very effective in speaking. 

EXAMPLES. 

Among the beautiful pictures 
That hang on memory's wall, 
Is one of a dim old forest, » 
That seemeth best of all. 

— Alice Gary. 

I >tood on the bridge at midnight, 
As the clocks were striking the hour, 
And the moon rose over the city, 
Behind the dark church tower. 

— Longfelhvb. 

When the lessons and tasks are all ended, 

And Death says, "The school is dismissed !" 

May the little ones gather around me, 

To bid me "Good night" and be kissed. 

— Dickens. 

The rmtmral expulsive is used in common conversation, ani- 
mated description, and gladness. 

EXAMPLES. 

An old clock that had stood for fifty years in a farmer's kitchen, without 
giving its owner any cause of complaint, early one summers morning, before 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 21 

the family was stirring, suddenly stopped. Upon this, the dial plate (if we 
may credit the fable) changed countenance with alarm; the hands made a vain 
effort to continue their course; the wheels remained motionless with surprise; 
the weights hung speechless — each member felt disposed to lay the blame on 
the other. — Jane Taylor. 

I laugh not at another's loss, 
I grudge not at another's gain; 
No worldly wave my mind can toss, 
I brook what is another s bane; 
I fear no foe nor fawn on friend; 
I loathe not life nor dread my end. 

— Anon. 

Loose declamation may deceive the crowd. 
And seem more striking as it grows more loud; 
But sober sense rejects it with disdain, 
As naught but empty noise, and weak as vain. 

The natural explosive is used in jollity, mirth, and laughter. 

EXAMPLES. 

Haste thee, nymphs, and bring with thee 
Jest and youthful jollity, 
Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, 
Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles. 

— Milton. 

I come from haunts of coot and hern: 

I make a sudden sally, 
And sparkle out among the fern 

To bicker down a valley. 

— Tennyson. 

Mister, I came to beg your pardon. You fell on the ice and I laughed at 
you; but — ha! ha! ha! — upon my soul, I couldn't help it. It was the — ha! 
ha! ha! — funniest sight I ever saw; and oh ! ho! ho! ho! ha! ha! — I couldn't 
help laughing. — Detroit Free Press. 

The orotund possesses all the good qualities of the natural 
intensified; it is fuller, deeper, a,nd stronger, with the resonance 
in the chest. 

In forming this tone the soft palate is raised, the base of the 
tongue and larynx are depressed as in yawning, and the column 
of air is directed upward. 

The orotund is acquired only by long and careful practice; 
but to any one, especially to a public speaker, it is worth all the 
time and pains spent upon it. 



i 



22 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

EXERCISES. 

Open the mouth as if about to yawn, then give a as in all, 
then a, as in arm. In the same position, with the vocal passage 
wide open, give ah in a whisper. Prolong thirty seconds. 
Make a clear, whistling sound. 

With the organs in the same position, give these sounds; the 
mouth opens wider till the fourth, then closes gradually to the 
close; give the sounds with one breath: e, a, a, a, ii, a, o, oo. 
Repeat several times. 

The orotund effusive expresses dignity, reverence, and sublim- 

EXAMPLES. 

O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers ! Whence are 
thy beams, sun ! thy everlasting light? — Ossian. 

O, thou eternal one, whose presence bright 

All space doth occupy, all motion guide, — 
Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight ! 

Thou only God, — there is no God beside. 

— Dershaven. 

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll ! 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. 

— Byron. 

"Thou, too, sail on, O ship of State ! 
Sail ou, O Union, strong and great!" 

The orotund expulsive is used in expressing grand and patri- 
otic emotions, in earnest appeal, and in solemn and impressive 
discourse. 

EXAMPLES. 

The wretch without reputation is under eternal quarantine; no friend to 
greet, no home to harbor him. The voyage of his life becomes a joyless peril; 
and in the midst of all ambition can achieve, or avarice amass, or rapacity plun- 
der, he tosses on the surge, a buoyant pestilence. — Charles Phillips. 

Were I only to suffer death, after being adjudged guilty by your tribunal, I 
should bow in silence, and meet the fate that awaits me without a murmur. 
The man dies, but his memory lives. That mine may not perish — that it may 
live in the respect of my countrymen — I seize upon this opportunity to vindi- 
cate myself from some of the charges alleged against me.— Emmet. 

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace ! 
peace ! but there is no peace. The war is actually begun ! The next gale that 
sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms ! 
Our brethren are already in the field ! — Patrick Henri/. 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 23 

LESSON VIII. 

The orotund explosive is the language of courage, defiance, 
and command. 

EXAMPLES. 

Once more I breathe the mountain air; 
Once more I tread my own free hills; 
My lofty spirit throws all its fetters off in its proud flight. 
■ T is like the new-fledged eaglet, whose strong wing 
Soars to the sun it long has gazed upon with eye undazzled: 
O, ye mighty race, that stand like frowning giants 
Fixed to guard my own proud laud, 
Why did ye not hurl down the thundering avalanche, 
When at your feet the base usurper stood ? 

— Knowles. 

"Quick! quick! brave spirits, to his rescue fly; 
Up ! up ! by heavens ! This hero must not die !" 

"Strike — till the last armed foe expires, 
Strike — for your altars aud your fires, 
Strike — for the green graves of your sires, 
God — and your native land ! " 

The oral is a thin, weak utterance, partaking somewhat of 
ventriloquism, apparently coming from a distance. With effu- 
sive form it is characteristic of sickness and weakness; with the 
expulsive form, of exhaustion and fatigue. 

EXAMPLES. 

Oral Expulsive. 
" 'Tell father, when he comes from work, I said good-night to him, 
And mother, now I'll go to sleep.' Alas ! poor little Jim ! " 
" O father ! I hear the church bells ring, 

O say, what may it be ? " 
" 'T is a fog-bell on a rock bound coast !" 
And he steered for the open sea. 

— Longfellow. 

The aspirate is a quality of voice in which more breath es- 
capes from the lungs than is vocalized. There are many de- 
grees of aspiration, from a pure whisper to pure vocality. 

The aspirate is used in language of secrecy, fear, and sup- 
pressed command. 

EXAMPLES. 

The foe ! They come ! They come ! 

— Byron. 



i 



24 TWENTY LESSOXS IN BEADING, 

"Is all prepared? — speak soft and low." 
"All ready ! we have sent the men. 
As you appointed, to the place." 
"Soldiers, yon are now within a few steps of the enemy's outposts. Our 
scouts report them slumbering around their watch-fires, and entirely unpre- 
pared for our attack. Let every man keep the strictest silence, under pain of 
instant death." 

Only the old camp raven croaks, 

And soldiers whisper: "Boys, be still; 
There's some bad news from Grangers folks." 

— Lynn. 

The pectoral is the tone of despair, dread, awe, and anger; 
also used in impersonating ghosts, and in describing the super- 
natural. In forming this tone the vocal organs are somewhat 
relaxed, the voice is sunk deep down into the chest, making a 
hollow, sepulchral sound. 

EXAMPLES. 

O, I have passed a miserable night — 

So full of fearful dreams and ugly sights. 

That as I am a Christian, faithful man. 

I would not spend another such a night. 

Though 't were to buy a world of happy days — 

So full of dismal terror was the time. — Shakespeare. 

I pray you give me leave to go from hence; I am not well. 

— Shakespeart'. 

Now o'er the one-half world 
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
The curtained sleep: Now witchraft celebrates 
Pale Hecate's offerings and withered murder. 
Alarmed by his sentinel, the wolf 
Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace 
Toward his design, moves like a ghost. — Macbeth. 

I am thy father's spirit 
Doomed for a certain term to walk the night 
And. for the day confined to fast in fires, 
Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, 
Are burnt and purged away. But that 1 am forbid 
To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 
1 could a tale unfold, whose lightest word 
Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood; 
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres; 
Thy knotted and combined locks to part, 
And each particular hair to stand on end, 
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine. — Ghost, in Hamlet. 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 25 

The guttural is a harsh, rough, grating, throaty tone, formed 
by a contraction of the muscles of the throat, squeezing the 
voice so as to form a grating, rasping sound. It is characteris- 
tic of hatred, scorn, intense anger, and contempt. 

EXAMPLES. 

' ' Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward ! 

Thou cold-blooded slave ! 

Thou wear a liou's hide ? 

Doff it for shame, and hang 

A calf-skin on those recreant limbs. 

Thou worm ! thou viper ! to thy native earth 

Return ! Away ! Thou art too base for man 

To tread upon. Thou scum ! thou reptile !" 
"How like a fawning publican he looks ! 

I hate him, for he is a Christian." 

The falsetto is a peculiar, high-pitched, shrill tone, with the 
resonance in the head. Its pitch is above where the voice is 
said to "break." It is used in imitating old men's and wo- 
men's voices; it also adds to the effect in imitating children's 
voices. 

EXAMPLES. 

"Now, Socrates, dearest," Xantippe replied, 
' ' I hate to hear everything vulgarly my\l ; 
Now whenever you speak of your chattels again, 
Say our cow house, out barn yard, out pig pen." 
And in a coaxing tone he cries, 

"Charco'! Charco'!" 
And baby with a laugh replies, 
"Ah, go ! Ah, go !" 
"Charco!"— "Ah, go!" 
And at the sounds, the mother's face with gladness bounds. 

— TToicbridge. 

The nasal tone seems to come through the nose. It is formed 
by having the nasal passage partially or totally closed, so that 
there can be no resonance there. It is used for the most part 
in mimicry. 

EXAMPLES. 

But the deacon swore ( as deacons do, 
With an "I dew vum" or an "I tell yeou") 
He would build one shay to beat the taown 
'N' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun'. 

— Holmes. 



26 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

" ' The birds can fly, an' why can 't I ? 
Must we give in,' says he, with a grin, 
' That the blue-bird and Phoebe are smartr 'n we be ? ' " 



LESSOJST IX. 

FORCE. | 

Force is the degree of strength of the voice. 

There are six degrees of force: suppressed, subdued, mod- 
erate, energetic, vehement, sustained. 

Suppressed force is an aspirated or a half-aspirated tone, to 
form which, the excess of feeling seems to send forth more 
breath than can be vocalized. 

Suppressed force is used to express awe, horror, and amaze- 
ment. 

EXAMPLES. 

Suppressed Force, Pectoral Quality, Effusive Form, Median Stress. 
O, Lord ! methought what pain it was to drown; 
What dreadful noise of water in mine ears; 
What sights of ugly death within my eyes ! 
Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; 
A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon; 
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, 
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, 
All scattered in the bottom of the sea; 
Some lay in dead men's skulls; and in those holes 
Where eye^ did once inhabit, there were crept 
(As 'twere in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems, 
That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, 
And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by. — Shakespeare. 

Subdued force is used in the expression of tranquil, peaceful, 
tender emotions. 

EXAMPLES. 

Effusive Form, Orotund. Median stnxs, low Pitch. 
Touch us gently, Time ! 
Let us glide adown thy stream 
Gently, as we sometimes glide 
Through a quiet dream. 
Humble voyagers are we, 
O'er life's dim, unsounded sea, 
Seeking only some calm clime; 
Touch us gently, Time ! — Barry Cornwall. 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 



27 



"Softly, peacefully. 

LayJier to rest; 
Place the turf lightly 

On her young breast. 
Gently, solemnly, 

Bend o'er the bed 
Where ye have pillowed 

Thus early her head." 

"Noiselessly as the spring-time 
Her crown of verdure weaves. 
And all the trees on all the hills 
Open their thousand leaves, 
So, without sound of music, 
Or voice of them that wept, 
Silently down from the mountain crown 
The great procession swept." 

Aspirate Quality. 
' ' Heard ye the whisper of the breeze, 
As softly it murmured by, 
Amid the shadowy forest trees ? 

It tells, with meaning sigh, 
Of the bowers of bliss on that viewless shore, 
Where the weary spirit shall sin no more.*' 

"Tread lightly, comrades! — we have laid 
His dark locks on his brow — 
Like life — save deeper light and shade — 
We '11 not disturb them now. " 

Moderate force is used in ordinary conversation. 

EXAMPLES. 

Natural Quality, Expulsive Form, Middle Pitch. 
Be wise, then, ye maidens, nor seek admiration. 

By dressing for conquest, and flirting with all; 
You never, whate'er be" your fortune or station, 

Appear half so lovely at rout or at ball, 
As gayly convened at the work-covered table, 

Each cheerfully active, playing her part, 
Beguiling the task with a song or a fable, 

And plying the needle with exquisite art: 
The bright little needle, the swift-flying needle, 

The needle directed by beauty and art. — Woodicorth. 

Stick to your aim; the mongrel's hold will slip, 

But only crow-bars loose the bull-dog's grip; 

Small as he looks, the jaw that never yields 

Drags down the bellowing monarch of the fields. — Holmes 



i 



28 TWENTY LESSONS IN BEADING, 

"I have seen faith transformed to mean doubt, hope give place to grim de- 
spair, and charity take on itself the features *)f black malevolence, all because 
of the spell words of scandal and the magic mutterings of gossip." 

"In reading, or writing, or sewing, 'tis right 
To sit, if you can, with your back to the light; 
And then, it is patent to every beholder, 
The light will fall gracefully over the shoulder." 

Energetic force is the degree of strength of the voice which 
is used to express joy, gaiety, laughter, grandeur, and bold de- 
scription. 

EXAMPLES. 

Expulsive Form. 
"There's uothing like fun, is there? I haven't any myself, but I do like to 
see it in others." 
Not in vain the distance beacons, forward, forward, let us range; 

Let the great world spin forever down the ringing grooves of change. 

r— Tennyson. 
Explosive Form. 
King out, wild bells, to the wild sky, 
The flying cloud, the frosty night ; 
The year is dying in the light; 
King out, wild bells, and let him die. 

— Ten nyson. 
We 've a trick, we young fellows, you may have been told, 
Of talking, in public, as if we were old; 
That boy we call "Doctor," and this we call "Judge;" 
It's a neat little fiction, — of course it's all fudge. 

— Holmes. 
"As the bleak Atlantic currents 
Lash the wild Newfoundland shore, 
So they beat against the state-house, 
So they surge against the door." 

Vehement fore* is used to express feelings of great joy, cour- 
age, defiance, anger, and loathing. 

EXAMPLES. 

Vehement Force, Orotund Quality, Explosive Form, High Pitch. 
"From every hill, by every sea, 
In shouts proclaim the great decree, 
All chains are burst, all men are free ! 
Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah !" 

"Mind and charge home ! 
Or, by the fires of heaven, I '11 leave the foe, 
And make my wars ou you : Look to't ! Come on !" 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 29 

Banished ! I thank you for 't ! it breaks my chain ! 
f I held some slack allegiance till this hour; 

But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords ! 

I scorn to count what feelings, wither'd hopes, 

Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, 

I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, 

To leave you in your lazy dignities. 

But here I stand and scoff you ! here I fling 

Hatred and full defiance in your face ! 

Your consul's merciful; — for this all thanks. 

He dares not touch a hair of Cataline. 

— Croly. 

Sustained force is used in calling and commands. 

EXAMPLES. 

Explosive Form, High Pitch, Orotund Quality. 

"Ahoy, young man ! " "What is it ? " "The rapids are below you." 

— Gough. 

"Jump, far out, boy, into the wave ! 

Jump, or I fire ! " he said; 
" This chance alone your life can save. 

Jump ! jump, boy ! " He obeyed. 

— Morris. 

Rejoice, ye men of Angiers ! Ring your bells : 
King John, your king and England's, doth approach. 
Open your gates and give the victors way. 

— Shakespeare. 

A voice came down the wild wind : 

"Ho ! ship ahoy ! " its cry ; 
Our stout ' ' Three Bells of Glasgow " 

Shall stand till daylight by ! 

— Whittier. 



LESSON X. 

STRESS. 

Stress is the application of force to some part or parts of an 
accented sound, or syllable. 

There are six kinds of stress: radical, final, median, com- 
pound, thorough, intermittent. 

In radical stress, the force is applied to the beginning of the 
sound or syllable and gradually decreases to the end. 



30 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

There are two kinds of radical stress: unimpassioned radical 
and impassioned radical. • 

Unimpassioned radical is characteristic of lively, joyous de- 
scription and distinct statement. 

EXAMPLES. 

A bow-shot from her bower eaves. 
He rode between the barley-sheaves. 
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, 
And flamed upon the brazen greaves 

Of bold Sir Lancelot. 
A red-cross knight forever kneeled 
To a lady in his shield. 
That sparkled on the yellow field, 

Beside remote Shalott. 

— Tennyson. 

And what is so rare as a day in June ? 
Then if ever come perfect days. 
Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, 
And over it softly her warm ear lays. 

— Lowell. 

"Insects generally must lead a jovial life. Think what it must be to lodge 
in a lily. Imagine a palace of ivm-y and p> <wl. with pillars of silver and capi- 
tals of gold, and exhaling such a perfume as never arose from human censer. 
Fan -y again the fun of tucking one's self up for the night in The folds of a rose, 
rocked to sleep by the gentle sighs of summer air. nothing to do when you 
awake but to wash yourself in a dewdrop and fall to eating your bedclothes." 

The impassioned radical is characteristic of command, cour- 
age, anger, and terror. 

EXAMPLES. 

Up! comrade-, up! — in Rokehi's halls 
Ne'er be it said our courage falls! — Scott. 

Back! ruffians, back! nor dare to tread 

Too near the body of my dead 

Nor touch the living boy: /stand 

Between him and your lawless band. — Stephens. 

The combat deepens. On, ye brave. 
AY ho rush to glory or the grave. 
Wave Munich, all thy banner;- wave, 
And charge with all thy chivalry. — Campbell. 

Villains, set claim the corse; or, by Saint Paul, 

I'll make a corse of him that disobeys. — Shakespeare. 

Alack! 1 am afraid they have awaked, and 'tis not done. — Shakespeare. 



FOR USE IX NORMAL INSTITUTES. 31 

In final stress^ the force gradually increases to the end of the 
sound or syllable, and closes abruptly; it expresses determina- 
tion, surprise, hate, and scorn. 

EXAMPLES. 

Final Stress, Energetic Force, High Pitch. 
Indeed, Mr. Caudle, I shall wear 'em; no, sir; I'm not going out a dowdy to 
please you, or anybody else. Gracious knows! it isn't often that I step over 
the threshold; indeed, I might as well be a slave at once — better I should say; 
but when I do go out, Mr. Caudle, I choose to go as a lady. — Jerrold. 

I'll have my bond: I will not hear thee speak: 
I '11 have my bond: and therefore speak no more. 

— Shakespeare. 

In -median st?*ess, the greatest force is applied to the middle 
of the sound or syllable; it expresses tranquil, joyous emotions; 
also patriotism, hope, and deep feeling. 

EXAMPLES. 

Median Stress, Orotund Quality, Effusive Form. 
There's a land far away, 'mid the stars, we are told, 

Where they know not the sorrows of time; 
Where the pure waters wander through valleys of gold, 

And life is a treasure sublime. 

— Clark. 

Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are, 
And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre. 

— Macau lay. 
' ' Your deep bark goes 
Where traffic blows, 
From lands of sun to lands of snoios: — 
This happier one, 
Its course is run 
From lands of snow to lands of sun." 
Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations. Before the 
mountains were brought forth or ever Thou hadst formed the earth and the 
world, even from everlasting to everlasting, Thou art God. — Bible. 



LESSON XI. 

Compound stress is the union of the radical and final on one 
sound. The force decreases to the middle and increases to the 
end; it is used to express irony, sarcasm, and contempt. 

EXAMPLES. 

"Shall Lewis have Blanche, and Blanche these provinces?" 



32 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

"Must I give way to your rash choler ? 
Must I be frighted, when a madman stares ? " 

And this man 

Is now become a god. 

— Shakespeare. 

Thorough stress carries the radical stress through the sound 
or syllable; it is used in language of fearlessness, braggadocio, 
and command. 

EXAMPLES. 

"Blaze with your serried columns ! 
I will not bend the knee ! 
The shackles ne'er again shall bind 
The arm which now is free" 

No, by the rood, not so. 

You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife. 

— Shakespeare. 

Intermittent stress is tremulous force upon the sound or sylla- 
ble. 

In the joyous tremor the voice moves through whole tones. 
In the plaintive tremor the voice moves through semitones. 

EXAMPLES. 

logons Tremor, Orotund Quality, High Pitch. 
Oh! then I see Queen Mao hath been with you. 
She is the fairieV midwife, and she comes 
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone 
On the forefinger of an alderman. 

— Shakespeare. 

"Joy, joy forever ! My task is done, 

The gates are past and heaven is won." 
" 'God bless the bonny Highlanders; 

We're saved! we're saved! ' she cried." 

Plaint ire Tremor. 
''Pity the sorrows of a poor old man 
Whose trembling limbs //ore home him to your door.'''' 

'•My child, my child!" with sobs and tears, 
She shrieked upon his calloused ears. 

— Mackay. 
O, Absalom ! my son! my son .' 

— Willis. 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 33 

LESSON XII. 

PITCH. 

Pitch is the degree of elevation or depression of the voice. 

The degrees of pitch of the voice depend upon its cultiva- 
tion; but for convenience we say there are five degrees: very 
high, high, middle, low, very low. 

Very high pitch is the tone of great joy. fright, and terror; 
also used in calling. 

High pitch is the tone of gaiety, defiance, command. 

Middle pitch is the tone of common conversation, unimpas- 
sioned description or narration. 

Low pitch is the tone of adoration, solemnity, and gloom. 

Very low pitch is the tone of sublimity, pathos, and deepest 
solemnity and reverence. 

EXAMPLES. 

Very High Pitch. 
Go ring the bells, and fire the guns, 

And fling the starry banner out, 
Shout | 'Freedom!" till your lisping ones 
Give back their cradle shout. 

— Whittier. 
High Pitch. 
, "Ho ! cravens ! do ye fear him ? 

Slaves ! traitors ! have ye flown ? 
Ho ! cowards ! have ye left me 
To meet him here alone ? " 

Middle Pitch. 

"I love music, when she appears in her virgin purity, almost to adoration. 
But vocal music— the dearest, sweetest thing on earth — unaccompanied with 
good elocution, is like butter without salt; a garlic-eater with a perfumed hand- 
kerchief; or, rather, like a bankrupt beau — his soft hands encased in delicate 
kids — with soiled linen and patches upon his knees." 

Low Pitch. 
"When all thy mercies, O my God, 
My rising soul surveys, 
Transported with the view, I'm lost 

In wonder, love, and praise." 
An orphan's curse would drag to hell 

A spirit from on high; 
But oh ! more horrible than that 

Is the curse in a dead man's eye ! — Coleridge. 



34 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

Very Loic Pitch. 

Pauline ! by pride 
Angels have fallen ere thy time: by pride — 
That sole alloy of thy most lovely mold. — Lytton. 

"In silence and at night the conscience feels 
That life should soar to nobler ends than power." 
So say'st thou sage and sober moralist! 
But wert thou tried? Sublime Philosophy, 
Thou art the patriarch's ladder reaching heaven 
And bright with beckoning angels, but, alas ! 
We see thee like the patriarch but in dreams 
By the first step low slumbering on the earth. — Ibid. 

' T is midnight's holy hour, and silence now 
Is brooding, like a gentle spirit, o'er 
The still and pulseless world. — Young. 

"There was silence, and I heard a voice saying 'Shall mortal man be more 
just than God ? Shall a man be more pure than his Maker ?' " 



LESSON XIII. 

INFLECTION. 

Inflection is variation of pitch on a single sound : a move- 
ment of the voice upward or downward. 

The upward movement is the rising inflection ('). 

The downward movement is the falling inflection ('). 

The ri&mg inflection indicates doubt, uncertainty, and incom- 
pleteness of idea; it is used in direct questions, in unemphatic 
negation, and in exclamations of address and inquiry. 

(Direct question), Can you define a direct question'? 

(Unemphatic negation), I could hardly believe it'. 

(Exclamation of address), "The combat deepens, on, ye 
brave'!" 

(Exclamation of inquiry), "Ah'! Indeed'!" 

The falling inflection is used in ordinary exclamation, em- 
phatic negation; in affirmations and commands: it indicates cer- 
tainty, determination, and completion of thought. 

(Exclamation), "Stretch to the race'! Away'! Away'!" 

(Emphatic negation), <»I will not v fight you'." 

(Affirmation), The weather is delightful'. 



FOB USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 35 

( Command ), "Be a soldier\ — be a hero\ — be a man\ 

The circumflex is the union of two or three inflections on one 
sound. 

The union of two inflections on one sound is simple circumflex. 

The union of three inflections on one sound is compound cir- 
cumflex. 

The circumflex is rising or falling as it ends with the rising 
or falling inflection, marked: rising (~), falling (-). 

The circumflex is used to express irony, sarcasm, contempt, 
raillery, mockery, and surprise. 

EXAMPLES. 

Simple Circumflex. 
Hath a dog nioney / ? .Is it possible a cur can lend three thousand ducats 7 ? 
If thou dost slander her and torture me never pray more\ .* 

If you said so then I said so. O ho ! did you say so ? So they shook hands 
and were sworn brothers. 

Compound Circumflex. 
Cassius. " You love me not ! " 
Brutus. "I do not love your faults." 
(Begin with rising and end with rising on "faults.") 

The interval of inflection is the length of slide of the voice. 

In the semitone, the voice slides up or down a half tone; in 
the second, two tones; in the third, three tones; in the fifth, 
five tones; and in the octave, eight tones. 

Greater emphasis requires longer slides. 

The semitone denotes pity, distress, plaintiveness. 
"O Absalom! my son, my son Absalom!" 

The slide of the second denotes reverence, awe, sublimity. 
"The Lord is in his holy temple. Let all the earth keep silence before him.' 
The slide of the third is used in animated conversation. 
"Of Stuart, the painter, this amusing anecdote is related." 

The fifth denotes alarm, surprise, anger. 

Horatio — "My lord, I think I saw him yester night." 
Hamlet — "Saw who?" 
Horatio — "My lord, the king, your father." 
Hamlet — "The king, my father!" 

The octave denotes extreme surprise. 

" Angels and ministers of grace defend us !" 



36 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 



(First rise and then fall an octave on "angels" and fall an 
octave on "grace.") 

In the monotone the pitch does not change; it expresses awe, 

reverence, and sublimity. 

"Pale, sheeted ghosts with gory locks upstarting from their tombs." 
"Thus saith the high and lofty one that inhabiteth eternity, I dwell in the 
high and holy place." 



LESSON XIV. 

TIME. 

Time in reading is a measure of the duration of speech 
sounds; At embraces rate, pause, and atrth r> r iiy . Q ^j^c^^SXX?^ * 

jRattjfp the speed of movement, and may be classed as very 
slow, slow, moderate, brisk, and rapid. 

Very slow rate expresses adoration, melancholy, and deep 
grief. 

Slow rate expresses grandeur, solemnity, and sublimity. 

Moderate rate is used in ordinary unimpassioned conversation. 

Brisk rate expresses gladness, excitement, animation. 

Rapid rate expresses hurry, confusion, and ecstatic joy. 

EXAMPLES. 

Pi ry Slow Bate. 
Night, 'sable goddess, from her ebon throne, 
In rayless majesty now stretches forth 
Her leaden scepter o'er a slumbering world. 
Silence how dead ! and darkness how profound ! 
Nor eye nor listening ear an object finds : 
Creation sleeps. "T is as the general pulse 
Of life stood still, and nature made a pause : 
An awful pause ! prophetic of her end ! — Young. 

S/,,/r H<Ue. 
Alone, alone, all, all alone, 
Alone on the wide, wide sea. — Coleridge. 

Moderate Rate. 
Th' unseemly jest, the petulant reply, 
That chatters on, and cares not how or why, 
Strictly avoid, — unworthy themes to scan, 
They sink the speaker and disgrace the man: 
Like the false lights by flying shadows cast, 
Scarce seen when present and forgot when past, — Story. 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 37 

Brisk Rate. 
O, young Locliinvar is come out of the West ! 
Through all the wide border his steed was the best ; 
Aud save his good broadsword he weapons had none; 
He rode all unarmed and he rode all alone. 

—Scott. 

Rapid Rate. 
'■ More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, 
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: 
Now, Dasher ! now Dancer ! now Prancer ! now Yixen ! 
On, Comet ! on, Cupid ! on Dunder and Blitzen ! 
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall ! 
Now, clash away, dash away, clash away all ! " 



LESSON XV. * 

PAUSE. 

Pause is the suspension of the voice. Pauses are grammat- 
ical, rhetorical, or emotional. 

Grammatical pauses are those which are made at the punctu- 
ation marks. In general, a comma indicates the shortest pause; 
a semicolon, slightly longer; a colon, longer than a semicolon; 
and a period, interrogation point, and exclamation point, still 
longer. 

Rapid rate, haste, and fear should have short pause: slow 
rate or abrupt change of thought should have long pause. 

Rhetorical pauses are made where there are no punctuation 
marks, and are absolutely necessary to make reading clear and 
impressive. 

RULES. 

Make rhetorical pauses before phrases and clauses. 
Make rhetorical pauses before words transposed from their 
natural order. 

Make rhetorical pauses before parentheses. 

Make rhetorical pauses before words following ellipses. 

Make rhetorical pauses before quotations. 

Make rhetorical pauses before emphatic words. 

Make rhetorical pauses after members of a series. 

Make rhetorical pauses after quotations. 



38 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

Make rhetorical pauses after parentheses. 

Make rhetorical pauses after phrases or clauses used as sub- 
jects of sentences. 

Make rhetorical pauses after emphatic words. 

Make rhetorical pauses after objects placed at the beginning 
of sentences. 

Make rhetorical pauses after and between words in apposition. 

[The student should furnish examples of each of the pauses.] 

Ernotional pauses should be made before and after words or 
phrases expressing strong emotion. 

QUANTITY. 

Quantity is the length of time given to sounds or syllables. 
Quantity* is long, moderate or short. Long quantity is used 
in sorrow, solemnity, awe, and pathos. 

EXAMPLE. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree's shade, 
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 

Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. — Gray. 

Mbderati quantity is used in ordinary conversation. See 
examples of moderate force, middle pitch, etc. 

Short quantity is used in joy, excitement, anger, and fright. 

EXAMPLE. 

And da rot thou then 
To beard the lion in his den, 
The Douglas in his hall? 
And hopest thou hence unscathed to u;o? 
No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no! — Scott. 



LESSON XVI. 

EMPHASIS. 

Emphasis is any change or peculiarity of voice or gesture by 
which especial attention is called to one or more words of a 
sentence. 

Words may be made emphatic by means of variation in 
pitch, force, time, quality, form, etc., and by combination of 
these properties. 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 39 

Emphasis may be antithetic, cumulative or absolute. 
Antithetic emphasis is applied to words or phrases which are 
contrasted. The contrasts may be expressed or understood. 

EXAMPLES OF EXPRESSED CONTRAST. 

The cynic is one who never sees a good quality in a man, and never fails to 
see a bod one. He is the Human owl, vigilant in darkness, and blind to light ; 
mousing for vermin, and never seeing noble game. — Beecher. 

I do not tremble when I meet 

The stoutest of my foes; 
But heaven defend me from the friend 

Who comes and never goes. 

— Hood. 

There is a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to 
dance. — Bible. 

EXAMPLES OF UNDERSTOOD CONTRAST. 

"The debt which the present generation owes to the monks of the middle 
ages." 

Speak the speech, I pray you, as /pronounced it to you. — Shakespeare. 

(" Speak" and "pronounced" have the same meaning, and 

"I" is contrasted with "you," the subject of speak.) 

You have clone that you should be sorry for. — Shakespeare. 

"Approach and read, for thou canst read, the lay 
Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 

("Thou canst" is contrasted with "I cannot," understood.) 

Cumulative emphasis is that which is applied with increasing 
power to a succession of emphatic words. 

EXAMPLES OF CUMULATIVE EMPHASIS. 

"They come ! to arms ! to arms ! TO ARMS ! " 
"He buys, he sells, he steals, he KILLS for gold." 
''Hence, home, you idle creatures ! get you HOME !" 
"The charge is utterly, totally, MEANLY false." 

Absolute emphasis is that which is applied to words which are 
in themselves important. 

examples of absolute emphasis. 
" What a piece of work is man ! 
How noble in reason ! how infinite in faculties ! 
Inform and moving how express and admirable ! 
In action how like an angel; in apprehension how like a god ! " 



40 TWENTY LESSONS IN BEADING, 

The clay is done, and the darkness 
Falls from the wings of night, 
As a feather is wafted downward 
From an eagle in its flight. 

— Longfellow. 

Emphasis is generally applied to single words; but some- 
times to phrases or several words together; and occasionally to 
every word of a sentence. 

"Heaven and earth will witness, 
If — Rome — must — fall — that we are innocent. " 

' ' Could we but climb where Moses stood 
And view the landscape o'er, 

Not Jordan's stream, nor death's — cold — flood 
Should fright us from the shore." 

In the following sentence every word is emphatic: 

If — my — happiness — must — be — put — up — for — sale, then let the 
price be well secured for which I barter it. 

Use emphasis upon the proper words so as to bring out the 
true meaning in the following examples: 

" O fools and slow of heart to believe all that was spoken by the prophets.'' 

"The settler here the savage slew." 

"Paul had determined to sail by Ephesus" (to sail past). 

"One of the servants of the high priest, being his kinsman whose ear Peter 
cut off, saith, Did not 1 see thee in the garden with him ? " ( whose kinsman lost 
his ear ? ) 



LESSON XVII. 

MODULATION. 

Modulation is such a variation in the tones of the voice as 
will best convey the thought and feeling of the author, and be 
most agreeable to the hearer. 

There is a "uniform variety" which is almost as disagree- 
able as monotone, and should be as carefully avoided. This 
consists in making a change in pitch, force, rate, ete. , at regular 
intervals, regardless of the sentiment. For example, beginning 
each sentence on a high pitch and then dying away to its close, 
or beginning with a slow rate and gradually increasing the speed 
to the close, etc. 



FOR USE IX FORMAL INSTITUTES. 41 

The student should practice upon the exercises on pages 20 to 
40, inclusive, until the organs become so flexible and under such 
perfect control that he can make any change in form, quality, 
pitch, etc., at will. 

IMPERSONATION. 

Impersonation is the art of using such modulations and style 
as to represent another. 

The best place to study this subject is among the class of peo- 
ple one wishes to impersonate, and a^skillful mimic will make 
the best impersonator. 

To impersonate old age, give a high, thin, cracked tone, and 
to represent toothlessness draw the lips over the teeth. (See 
"Old Man in the Model Church.") 

Children's voices are higher, thinner, with more marked 
slides, mouth wide open, throat slightly contracted. (See "The 
B ald-Headed Man. ' ' ) 

Where several persons are to be impersonated in one reading, 
sufficient change should be made in the voice, style, and posi- 
tion of the body that the different characters may easily be dis- 
tinguished, and the same stvle should be maintained for each 
character during the reading. 

The only way to learn the different dialects. Negro, Dutch, 
Irish, etc. , is from a teacher, or, better still, from the characters 
themselves. 

One great fault of young readers and some old ones is to 
impersonate too much, even confusing it with description. 

Imitative modulation is playing upon words so as to make 
the sound correspond to the sense. 

Examples for practice — try to suggest the meaning by the 
sound: Buzz, rattle, hiss, roar, flow, crash, smooth, rough, 
large, little, broad, thunder, groan, sigh, scream, slowly, mas- 
sive, grasping, strength, joyous, sparkling, glittering, bursting. 

Not only in single words can the sense be suggested by the 
sound, but also in whole passages; especially in poetry. 

EXAMPLES. 

"With many a weary step and many a groan 
Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone.'' 



42 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

"When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw 
The line, too, labors, and the words move slow; 
Xot so, when swift Camilla scours the plain, 
Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main. 

"An ancient time-piece says to all, 

4 Forever — never ! Never — forever ! ' " 

•'In deeds of love, excel ! excel ! 
Chimed out from ivy towers a bell." 

''Hear the sledges with the bells — silver bells ! 

What a world of merriment their melody foretells ! " 
•• Hear the tolling of the bells — iron bells ! 

What a world of solemn thought their monody compels 

"Half a league, half a league, 
Half a league onward ! " 

"There crept 
A little noiseless noise among the leaves, 
Bom of the very sigh that silence heaves." 

"Double, double toil and trouble 
Fire burn, and caldron bubble." 

"The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums 
Hath rung night's yawning peals." 



LESSON XVIII. 

GESTURE. 

Suit the action to the word and the word to the action. — Shakespeare. 

Gesture is that part of delivery which appeals to the eve: it 
includes position and movement. 

The position m reading should be easy and graceful, one 
foot about three inches in front of the other, making an angle 
of thirty degrees. The distance from the outside of one foot 
to the outside of the other should be as great as the body is 
wide at the hips; the weight of the body supported on rear 
foot; right hand hanging at side; book held in left hand; the 
thumb and little finger holding the book open. 

Movement. — The hand in gesture may be supine, palm up; 
prone, palm down; or vertical, palm away from reader. Nearly 
all gestures are made with palm up. Prone indicates negation, 
and vertical, warding off. 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES, 43 

With hand and arm. gestures may be made directly in fi;ont 
of the reader, called front: to the right or left, called lateral; 
between front and lateral, called oblique; back of lateral, called 
ftaehwa/rd; below the level of shoulder, called descending / on 
a level with the shoulder, called horizontal / above the level of 
the shoulder, called ascending. 

ABBREVIATIONS IX GESTURE. 

D, descending — plane of the will, determination. 
II. horizontal — plane of the intellect. 

A, ascending — plane of the imagination. 

J 7 , front — something near by in time or place. 

O. oblique — something indefinite: used also in explanations. 

Z. lateral — great extent, contrast. 

B. backward — obscure, hidden, past time. 
.ML, both hands. 

EXERCISES IN GESTURE. 

On count one bring the hand to H. F. (horizontal front),, 
thumb uppermost; on count two raise the hand, bending the 
elbow, till the fingers, hanging naturally, point to the top of 
the forehead; on count three make the gesture unfolding the 
hands and arms gracefully, palm up; on count four let the 
hand fall easily to the side. Practice these till they can be per- 
formed easily and gracefully. 

Eight hand; then with left hand; then with both hands; 

D. F., 1, 2, 3. 4; H. F., 1. 2. 3. 4: A. F.. 1. 2. 3, 4: D. O.. 1. 2. 3. 4: H. O., 
1. 2, 3. 4: A. O., 1, 2, 3. 4: D. L.. i. 2. 3. 4: H. L.. 1. 2, 3. 4: A. L. ? 1, 2, 3, 
4; D. B.. 1. 2. 3, 4; H. B.. 1. 2. 3. 4: A. B.. 1. 2. 3. 4. 

The following selection is given by many elocutionists as a 
gesture exercise, and is considered one of the best: 

THE MISER AXI) PLUTUS. 

Note. — In the following exercise the letters refer to the directions as given above. All 
are to be given with right hand supine unless otherwise designated. 

The wind is high — the window shakes: 

DM. A. 0. H. L. Pointing Right. 

With sudden start the miser wakes ! 

H. 0. Vertical H. 0. 

Along the silent room he stalks; 

H.F.toO. . . . (Gesture Sustained.) 

Looks back and trembles as he walks ! 

Read and Eyes Left. Dbl H. 0. {tremor.) 



44 TWENTY LESSONS IN BEADING, 

■ Each lock and ey'ry bolt he tries, 

D.O. Pointing. D. L. Pointing. 
In ev.'ry c ?*acft and corner pries; 
17. 0. Left. . . H.O. Dbl. 
Then opes his chest with treasure stored, 

D. 0. (Gesture of Illustration.) 
And stands in rapture o*er his hoard. 

ZW. A. F. Vert. (Forearm only.) 
But now with sudden qualms possessed. 

(Both Hands to Bight.) Dbl. H L. Vertical. 
He irrings his hands — he beats his breast; 

(Illustration.) (Illustration.) 
By conscience stung he wildly stares; 

Illustration. {Over Right Shoulder.) 
And thus his guilty soul declares: 

Hands Crossed on Breast. 
Had the deep earth her stores confined, 

Dbl. D. 0. 
This heart had known sweet peace of mind; 

Bight Hand on Heart. Dbl. A. 0. 
But virtue's sold! Good gods, what price 
Dbl, D. 0. Prone. Dbl. II. L. 
Can recompense the pangs of vice ? 

Dbl. D.O. Prom. 
O, bane of good ! seducing cheat ! 

Dbl. II. 0. Prone 

Can man. weak man, thy power defeat? 

Same, but D. 
Gold banished honor from the mind. 

Dbl. II. L. Vert. 
And only left the name behind; 

Dbl. H. F. 
Gold sowed the world with ev'ry ill: 

Dbl. II. L. 
Gold taught the murd'rer's sword to kill; 

Hand Raised to Strike. Dbl. D.O. Prone. 
'T was gold instructed coward hearts 

II 0. 
In treach'ry's most pernicious arts. 

D.B. Prone. 
Who can recount the mischief o'er? 
Dbl. H. 0. 

Virtue resides on earth no mori ! 
Dbl.A.O. Dbl. H.L. 






FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 45 

SUGGESTIONS. 

In going before an audience to read or speak, make a slight 
bow to the chairman while walking by him and another to the 
audience before stopping, taking two steps after the bow, while 
gaining an erect position. 

Remember a beautiful form is more beautiful than a beauti- 
ful face, and beautiful manners are more beautiful than a 
beautiful form. 

Never make a gesture unless it will help to illustrate or em- 
phasize your idea. 

Never make a gesture in reading while looking at the book. 

Never make a gesture with one hand and hold the finger of 
the other hand on the line of the piece so as to keep the place. 

Make the gesture on the most emphatic word and drop the 
hand to the side on the next emphatic word. 

First the look, then the gesture, then the word in quick suc- 
cession. 

''Nothing is more deplorable than a gesture without a mo- 
tive. ' ' — Delsarte. 



LESSON XIX. 

PRIMARY READING. 

The methods which have been in vogue for teaching reading 
are: The alphabetic method, the phonic method, the phonetic 
method, the word method, and the sentence method. 

The first three methods begin with the elements (letters and 
sounds) and combine them to form words; hence these meth- 
ods are synthetic: the last two methods begin with wholes 
(words and sentences) and separate them into their elements; 
hence they are analytic. 

As all psychologists agree that the child' s mind is analytic, 
the principle underlying the last two methods is the correct one. 

Experience has shown that the sentence is too complicated 
an aggregate for the child's mind to grasp, and resolve into 
its elements, and that the proper starting point from which to 
teach reading is the word. 



46 TWENTY LESSON'S IN READING, 

Of the first three methods, the alphabetic is the only one 
that is used to any considerable extent at the present time. 
The child is first taught the letters, then words of two letters, 
as a-b ab, e-b eb, i-b ib, etc., then words of three letters, 
words of two syllables, gradually increasing in difficulty till 
he learns words of four and five syllables. 

The arguments against this method are, that the names of 
the letters have little to do with their sounds in the sentence; 
that as letters they have no meaning for the children; that the 
child's mind is analytic; that there are no associations by which 
the child can remember the letters; that a word is not built of 
letters anyhow, but of sounds; and that a child can be inter- 
ested in words while he cannot be interested in letters. On the 
other hand, it must be acknowledged that a great many persons 
have learned to read by the alphabetic method, and that, in 
spite of all the difficulties, children still continue to learn their 
letters — in fact most of them have learned them before they 
enter the school room; and that a pupil must know the letters 
before he can learn new words for himself. 

By the word method as now taught the pupil learns both the 
letters and the sounds soon after he learns the word. 

The pupil should begin to learn words the firs*t day he comes 
to school; at first words representing objects that can be shown, 
or the pictures of which can be shown, then words representing 
objects with which the child is familiar and which he can de- 
scribe from memory, and a few verbs, such as is, are, play, etc., 
to be used in making sentences. 

The teacher writes the word upon the board and the pupil learns 
to write it and to recognize it at sight in either print or script. 

The pupil makes sentences or stories containing the word that 
he is learning till he understands its use thoroughly. 

After the child has learned a number of words, the analysis 
may begin both into the letters of which the words are com- 
posed and into the elementary sounds. 

Reading boxes are a great help in this work. Have about 
one hundred words printed on different colored card board, 
printed on both sides, beginning with a capital on one side and 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 47 

a small letter on the other. Cut the card board so that a piece 
contains but one word on each side. Put in empty spool boxes 
ten copies of each word the pupil knows, and let him make sen- 
tences of them. Then add to the box each new word as the 
pupil learns it. A, the, is, are, etc. , are learned among the first, 
so that sentences can be formed. At first the teacher writes 
the sentences on the board, and the pupils form them from the 
boxes. Spelling boxes may be used in the same way, only each 
piece of card board contains a letter, instead of a word, on each 
side, small on one side, capital on the other. The letters are put 
into the boxes promiscuously, and the pupil finds the ones to spell 
the words which have been written on the board by the teacher. 
These boxes furnish excellent busy work for the little ones 
while the teacher is hearing the advanced classes. If your board 
will not get the cards for you, print them yourself. It will pay. 

SUGGESTIONS. 

There is a best method; but the spirit which animates the 
teacher is of infinitely more importance than the method. 

Do not teach the little ones to say uh and thu for a and the. 

Do not have young pupils read what they have read so often 
that they know it without the book: it develops a listless, inat- 
tentive disposition. 

Always choose the word or words and outline the lesson be- 
fore you hear your class. 

If possible show the object or picture, if the children cannot 
describe it from memory. , 

If you are a teacher, you will invent hundreds of ways to 
arouse the enthusiasm of the pupils and to keep them busy. 

LESSOR XX. 

METHODS WITH ADVANCED CLASSES. 
(1. ) Calisthenic drill. (2. ) Breathing exercises. (3. ) Yocal drill 
in pitch, force, rate, etc. (4.) Exercise in pronouncing difficult 
words or words commonly mispronounced. (5.) Questions on 
the selection to be read, to bring out the style of piece and the 
manner in which it should be read. (6.) Read the selection. 



48 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING. 

METHODS. 

1. Have one read, and the remainder of the class point out 
the errors. 

2. Have each one read the same paragraph or stanza and see 
who makes the fewest mistakes. 

3. Have each one read a certain part of the lesson and see 
who can look from his book the most. 

4. Have each pupil read to a pause, the next one called upon 
taking up the reading where the last one left off. 

5. Have each one read till he makes a mistake, and see who 
can read farthest. 

6. Teacher read one line, class next line in concert, teacher 
next line, etc. 

7. Appoint captains and have them choose the members of 
the class, one side criticising the other, the captains to keep 
the number of mistakes and see which will make the fewest in 
a week or two weeks. 

8. Read in confusion. No, 1 begins and reads a piece 
through; when No. 1 has read two lines, No. 2 begins and 
reads to the close, No. 3 then, etc., till all the class has read. 

9. Let the teacher read, and the pupil imitate as nearly as 
possible. 

10. The teacher imitates the pupils in their faults, for often 
a mere calling attention to a fault will not be sufficient. This 
method must be used with great care. 

11. Have pupils give synopsis of selection; also have them 
describe objects mentioned. This will help to develop the im- 
agination, without which no good reading. Ask questions such 
as will help pupils to picture the scenes. Thus in " Jennie 
McNeal ' ' : How large was Jennie ? Color of hair and eves i 
How was she dressed \ Describe cottage, surroundings. How 
many rooms in cottage \ What kind of furniture, pictures, rire- 
place, etc.? Where did the gun hang? etc., throughout the 
piece. 



PART II. 



THE RIDE OF JENNIE McNEAL. 

Paul Revere was a rider bold, — 
AVell has his valorous deed been told; 
Sheridan's ride was a glorious one, — 
Often it has been dwelt upon; 
But why should men do all the deeds 
On which the love of a patriot feeds ? 
Hearken to me, while I reveal 
The dashing ride of Jennie McNeal. 

On a spot as pretty as might be found 

In the dangerous length of the "Neutral Ground, 

In a cottage, cosy, and all their own, 

She and her mother lived alone. 

Safe were the two, with their frugal store, 

From all the many who passed their door; 

For Jennie's mother was strange to fears, 

And Jennie was large for fifteen years: 

With vim her eyes were glistening, 

Her hair was the hue of a blackbird's wing; 

And, while her friends who knew her well 

The sweetness of her heart could tell, 

A gun that hung on the kitchen wall ' 

Look'd solemnly quick to heed her call; 

And they who were evil-minded knew 

Her nerve was strong and her aim was true. 

So all kind words and acts did deal 

To generous, black-eyed Jennie McNeal. 

One night, when the sun had crept to bed, 
And rain clouds lingered overhead, 
And sent their surly drops for proof 
To drum a tune on the cottage roof, 
Close after a knock at the outer door 
There entered a dozen dragoons or more. 
Their red coats, stained by the muddy road, 
That they were British soldiers showed: 
The captain his hostess bent to greet, 
Saying, "Madam, please give us a bit to eat; 
We will pay you well, and, if may be, 
This bright-eyed girl for pouring our tea; 
Then we must dash ten miles ahead, 
To catch a rebel colonel abed. 
He is visiting home, as doth appear; 
We will make his pleasure cost him dear." 
And they fell on the hasty supper with zeal, 
Close-watched the while by Jennie McNeal. 

For the gray-haired colonel they hovered near 
Had been her true friend, kind and dear; 
And oft, in her younger days, had he 
Right proudly perched her upon his knee, 



—4 



50 TWENTY LESSONS IN BEADING, 

And told her stories many a one 
Concerning the French war lately done. 
And oft together the two friends were, 
And many the arts he had taught to her; 
She had h anted by his fatherly side, 
He had shown her how to fence and ride; 
And once had said, " The time may be, 
Your skill and courage may stand by me." 
So sorrow for him she could but feel, 
Brave, grateful-hearted Jennie McNeal. 

With never a thought or a moment more, 
Bare headed she slipped from the cottage door, 
Ran out where the horses were left to feed, 
Unhitched and mounted the captain's steed, 
And down the hilly and rock-strewn way 
She urged the fiery horse of gray. 
Around her slender and cloakless form 
Pattered and moaned the ceasless storm; 
Secure and tight a gloveless hand 
Grasped the reins with stern command; 
And full and black her long hair streamed, 
Whenever the ragged lightning gleamed. 
And on she rushed for the colonel's weal, 
Brave, lioness-hearted Jennie McNeal. 

Hark! from the hills, a moment mute, 

Came a clatter of hoofs in hot pursuit; 

And a cry from the foremost trooper said, 
"Halt! or your blood be on your head!" 

She heeded it not, and not in vain 

She lash'd the horse with the bridle rein; 

So into the night the gray horse strode; 

His shoes hewed fire from the rocky road; 

And the high-born courage that never dies 

Flashed from his rider's coal-black eyes: 

The pebbles flew from the tearful race; 

The raindrops grasped at her glowing face. 
"On. on, brave beast!" with loud appeal, 

Cried eager, resolute Jennie McNeal. 
"Halt!" once more came the voice of dread; 
•• Halt! or your blood be on your head!" 

Then, no one answering to the calls, 

Sped after her a volley of balls. . 

They passed her in her rapid flight, 

They screamed to her left, they screamed to her right: 

But, rushing still o'er the slippery track, 

She sent no token of answer back, 

Except a silvery laughter peal, 

Brave, merry-hearted Jennie McNeal. 

So on she rushed, at her own good will, 
Through wood and valley, o'er plain and hill: 
The gray horse did his duty well, 
Till all at once he stumbled and fell, 
Himself escaping the nets of harm, 
But flinging the girl with a broken arm. 
Still undismayed by the numbing pain, 
She clung to the horse's bridle rein, 
And gently bidding him to stand, 
Petted him with her able hand; 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 51 

Then sprung again to the saddle-bow, 
And shouted, "One more trial now!" 
As if ashamed of the heedless fall, 
He gathered his strength once more for all, 
And, galloping down a hillside steep, 
Gained on the troopers at every leap; 
No«iore the high-bred steed did reel, 
But ran his best for Jennie McNeal. 

They were a furlong behind, or more, 
When the girl burst through the colonel's door, — 
Her poor arm helpless hanging with pain, 
And she all drabbled and drenched with rain, 
But her cheeks as red as firebrands are, 
And her eyes as bright as a blazing star, — 
And shouted, "Quick! be quick, I say ! 
They come ! they come ! Away ! away ! " 
Then sunk on the rude white floor of deal, 
Poor, brave, exhausted Jennie McNeal. 

The startled colonel sprung, and pressed 
The wife and children %) his breast, 
And turned away from his fireside bright, 
And glided into the stormy night; 
Then soon and safely made his way 
To where the patriot army lay. 
But first he bent, in the dim firelight, 
And kissed the forehead broad and white. 
And blessed the girl who had ridden so well 
To keep him out of a prison cell. 
The girl roused up at the martial din, 
Just as the troopers came rushing in, 
And laughed, e'en in the midst of a moan, 
Saying, "Good sirs, your bird has flown: 
' T is I who have scared him from his nest; 
So deal with me now as you think best." 
But the grand young captain bowed, and said, 
1 Never you hold a moment's dread : 
Of womankind I must crown you queen; 
So brave a girl I have never seen: 
Wear this gold ring as your valor's due; 
And when peace comes I will come for you." 
But Jennie's face an arch smile wore, 
As she said, "There's a lad in Putnam's corps, 
Who told me the same, long time ago; 
You two would never agree, I know: 
I promised my love to be true as steel," 
Said good, sure-hearted Jennie McNeal. 



WHO WAS THE GENTLEMAN? 

"Please, sir, don't push so !" It was in endeavoring to penetrate the dense 
crowd that nearly filled the entrance, and blocked up the doorway, after one of 
our popular lectures, that this exclamation met my attention. It proceeded 
from a little girl of not more than ten years, who, hemmed in by the wall on 
one side, and the crowd on the other, was vainly endeavoring to extricate her- 
self. 

The person addressed paid no attention to the entreaty of the little one, but 
pushed on toward the door. "Look here, sir," said a man whose coarse apparel, 
sturdy frame, and toil-embrowned hands, contrasted strongly with the delicately 



52 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

gloved fingers, curling locks, and expensive broadcloth of the former. "Look 
here, sir, you're jamming that little girl's bonnet all to smash with those elbows 
of yours." 

"Can't help that," gruffly replied the individual addressed: "I look to No. 
One." "You take care of 'No. One, do you? Well, that's all fair: so do I," 
replied the honest countryman ; and with these words, he took the little girl in 
his arms, and placing his broad shoulders against the slight for,m of the former, 
he pushed him through the crowd, down the steps, landing him, with somewhat 
more haste than dignity, in the street below. 

The young gentleman picked himself up, but rather intimidated by the stout 
fist of the stranger, and rather abashed by the laughter of %e crowd, concluded 
it was about time for him to go home. In polite society the former would be 
courted and admired, and the latter overlooked and despised. "Who was the 
gentleman?" 

On a raw and blustering day last winter, a young girl, with a basket on her 
arm, entered one of our stores. After making a few purchases, she turned to 
leave. Two gentlemen stood in the doorway, whose appearance indicated that 
they thought themselves something ; whose soft, sleek coats and delicate hands 
were apparently of about the same quality as their brains. 

As they made not the slightest movement as she approached, the young girl 
hesitated a moment, but seeing no other #ay, she politely requested them to 
stand aside. They lazily moved a. few inches, allowing her barely room to pass, 
giving her, as she did so, a broad stare, that brought the color to her cheek, and 
the fire to her eye. In stepping upon the icy pavement her foot slipped, and in 
endeavoring to save herself, her basket fell, and the wind scattered its contents 
in every direction. 

At this, the two gentlemen burst into a loud laugh, and seemed to consider it 
as vastly amusing. "Let me assist you." exclaimed a pleasant voice; and a lad 
about sixteen, whose hands showed that they were accustomed to labor, and 
whose coarse but well-patched coat indicated that he was the child of poverty, 
sprang forward, and gathering up the articles, presenter! the basket with a bow 
and a smile that would have graced a drawing-room. ,k Who was the gentle- 
man?" 

Boys, you are all ambitious to become gentlemen. It is all very natural, but 
remember, that neither your own nor your parents' position in life, your tailor, 
your bootblack, or your barber, can make you one. The true gentleman is the 
same everywhere; not only at the social party or ball, but in the noisy mill, the 
busy shop, the crowded assembly, at home, or in the street; never oppressing 
the weak or ridiculing the unfortunate; respectful and attentive to his supe- 
riors; pleasant and affable to his equals: candid and tender of the feelings of 
those whom he may consider beneath him. 



THE BRIDAL OF MALAHIDE. 

The joy-bells are ringing in gay Malahide, 

The fresh wind is singing along the sea-side; 

The maids are assembling with garlands of flowers, 

And the heart strings are trembling in all the glad bower? 

Swell, swell the gay measure ! roll trumpet and drum ! 

'Mid greetings of pleasure in splendor they come ! 

The chancel is ready, the portal stands wide, 

For the lord and the lady, the bridegroom and bride. 

Before the high altar young Maud stands arrayed: 
With accents that falter her promise is made — 
From father and mother forever to part, 
For him and no other to treasure her heart. 
The words are repeated, the bridal is done, 
The rite is completed — the two, they are one ; 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 53 

The vow it is spoken all pure from the heart, 
That must not be broken till life shall depart. 

Hark ! "mid the gay clangor that compassed their ear, 

Loud accents in anger come mingling afar ! 

The foe 's on the border, his weapons resound 

"Where the lines in disorder unguarded are found. 

As wakes the good shepherd, the watchful and bold, 

When the ounce or the leopard is seen in the fold, 

So rises already the chief in his mail, 

While the new-married lady looks fainting and pale. 

Son, husband, and brother, arise to the strife, 

For the sister and mother, for children and wife ! 

O'er hill and o'er hollow, o'er mountain and plain, 

Up, true men, and follow! let dastards remain." 

Hurrah! to the battle! they form into line — 

The shields, how they rattle! the spears, how they shine ' 

Soon, soon shall the foeman his treachery rue — 

On, burgher and yoeman, to die or to do ! 

The eve is declining in lone Malahide, 
The maidens are twining gay wreaths for the bride; 
She marks them unheeding — her heart is afar, 
Where the clansmen are bleeding for her in the war. 
Hark! loud from the mountain — 'tis victory's cry! 
O'er woodland and fountain it rings to the sky! 
The foe has retreated ! he flies to the shore; 
The spoiler's defeated — the combat is o'er ! 

With foreheads unruffled # the conquerers come — 

But why have they muffled the lance and the drum ? 

What form do they carry aloft on his shield ? 

And where does he tarry, the lord of the field ? 

Ye saw him at morning — how gallant and gay! 

In bridal adorning, the star of the day; 

Now weep for the lover — his triumph is sped, 

His hope it is over! the chieftain is dead ! 

But oh, for the maiden who mourns for that chief 

With heart overladen and rending with grief ! 

She sinks on the meadow, in one morning-tide 

A wife and a widow, a maid and a bride ! 

The war cloak she raises all mournfully now, 

And steadfastly gazes upon the cold brow. 

That glance may forever unaltered remain, 

But the bridegroom will never return it again. 

The death bells are tolling in sad Malahide, 

The death wail is rolling along the sea tide: 

The crowds, heavy hearted, withdraw from the green, 

For the sun has departed that brightened the scene ! 



AXECDOTE OF JUDGE MARSHALL. 

It is not long since a gentleman was traveling in one of" the counties of Vir- 
ginia, and about the close of the clay stopped at a public house, to obtain refresh- 
ment and spend the night. He had been there but a short time, before an old 
man alighted from his gig, with the apparent intention of becoming his fellow- 
guest, at the same house. As the old man drove up, he observed that both the 
shafts of his gig were broken, and that they were held together by withes formed 
from the bark of a hickory sapling. Our traveler observed further, that he was 
plainly clad, that his kneebuckles were loosened, and that something like negli- 



54 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

gence prevaded his dress. Conceiving him to be one of the honest yeomanry of 
our land, the courtesies of strangers passed between them, and they entered the 
tavern. It was about the same time that an addition of three or four young 
gentlemen was made to their number — most, if not all of them, of the legal 
profession. As soon as they became conveniently accommodated, the conver- 
sation was turned by one of the latter upon an eloquent harangue which had 
that day been displayed at the bar. It was replied by the other, that he had 
witnessed the same day a degree of eloquence no doubt equal, but that it was 
from the pulpit. Something like a sarcastic rejoinder was made to the eloquence 
of the pulpit ; and a warm and able altercation ensued, in which the merits of 
the Christian religion became the subject of discussion. From six o'clock, until 
eleven, the young champions wielded the sword of argument, adducing with 
ingenuity and ability every thing that could be said pro and con. During this 
protracted period, the old gentleman listened with all the meekness and mod- 
esty of a child: as if he was adding new information to the stores of his own 
mind ; or perhaps he was observing with philosophic eye the faculties of the 
youthful mind, and how new energies are evolved by repeated action ; or, per- 
haps, with patriotic emotion, he was reflecting upon the future destinies of his 
country, and on the rising generation upon whom these future destinies must 
devolve; or, most probably, with a sentiment of moral and religious feeling, he 
was collecting an argument which, (characteristic of himself,) no art would be 
••able to elude, and no force to resist." Our traveler remained a spectator, and 
took no part in what was said. 

At last, one of the young men, remarking that it was impossible to combat 
with long and established prejudices, wheeled around, and with some familiarity, 
exclaimed, "Well, my old gentleman, what think you of these things?" If, 
said the traveler, a streak of vivid lightning had at that moment crossed the 
room, their amazement could not have been greater than it was with what fol- 
lowed. The most eloquent and unanswerable appeal was made for nearly an 
hour, by the old gentleman, that he ever heard or read. So perfect was his rec- 
ollection, that every argument urged against the Christian religion was met in 
the order in which it was advanced. Hume's sophistry on the subject of mira- 
cles was, if possible, more perfectly answered than it had already been done 
by Campbell. And in the whole lecture there was so much simplicity and en- 
ergy, pathos and sublimity, that not another word was uttered. An attempt to 
describe it, said the traveler, would be an attempt to paint the sunbeams. It 
was now a matter of curiosity and inquiry who the old gentleman was. The 
traveler concluded that it was the preacher from whom the pulpit eloquence was 
heard: but no — it was the Chief Justice of the United States. 



THE PRISONER FOR DEBT. 

Look on him! — through his dungeon grate 

Feebly and cold, the morning light 
Comes stealing round him. dim and late, 

A- if it loathed the sight 
Reclining on his strawy bed. 
His hands uphold his drooping head. — 
His bloodless cheek is seamed and hard, 
Unshorn his gray, neglected beard; 
And o'er his bony fingers flow 
His long, disheveled locks of snow. 

Xo grateful fire before him glows, 
And yet the winter's breath is chill; 

And o'er his half clad person goes 
The frequent ague thrill ! 

Silent, save ever and anon. 

A sound, half murmur and half groan, 



FOR USE ffl NORMAL INSTITUTES. 55 

Forces apart the painful grip 
Of* the old sufferer's bearded lip: 
O sad and crushing is the fate 
Of old age chained and desolate ! 

Just God! why lies that old man there? 

A murderer shares his prison bed, 
Whose eyeballs, through his horrid hair. 

Gleam on him fierce and red; 
And the rude oath and heartless jeer 
Fall ever on his loathing ear. 
And, or in wakefulness or sleep. 
Nerve, flesh and pulses thrill and creep 
Whene'er that ruffian's tossing limb, 
Crimson with murder, touches him ! 

What has the gray-haired prisoner done '? 

Has murder stained his hand with gore ? 
Not so ; his crime 's a fouler one ; 

God made the odd max poor ! 
For this he shares a felon's cell. — 
The fittest earthly type of hell ! 
For this, the boon for which he poured 
His young blood on the invader's sword, 
And counted light the fearful cost. — 
His blood-gained liberty is lost ! 

And so for such a place of rest, 

Old prisoner, dropped thy blood as rain 
On Concord's field, and Bunker's crest, 

And Saratoga's plain ? 
Look forth, thou man of many scars, 
Through thy dim dungeon's iron bars: 
It must be joy, in sooth, to see 
Yon monument upreared to thee. — 
Piled granite and a prison cell. — 
The land repays thy service well ! 

Go, ring the bells, and fire the guns, 

And fling the starry banner out: 
Shout '"Freedom!" till your lisping ones 

Give back their cradle shout: 
Let boastful eloquence fl eel aim 
Of honor, liberty, and fame : 
Still let the poet's strain be heard. 
With "glory'' for each second word, 
And everything with breath agree 
To praise "our glorious liberty!" 

But when the patriot cannon jars 

That prison's cold and gloomy wall. 
And through its grates the stripes and stars 

Rise on the winds, and fall, — 
Think ye that prisoner's aged ear 
Rejoices in the general cheer? 
Think ye his dim and failing eye 
Is kindled at your pageantry ? 
Sorrowing of soul, and chained of limb. 
What is your carnival to him? 

Down with the law that binds him thus ! 

Unworthy freemen, let it find 
Xo refuge from the withering curse 

Of God and human kind ! 



56 TWENTY LESSONS 1W READING, 

Open the prison's living tomb, 

And usher from its brooding gloom 

The victims of your savage code 

To the free sun and air of God: 

No longer dare as crime to brand 

The chastening of the Almighty's hand. 



BEHIND TIME. 

A railroad train was rushing along at almost lightning speed. A curve was 
just ahead, beyond which was a station at which the cars usually passed each 
other. The conductor was late, so late that the period during which the down 
train was to wait had nearly elapsed ; but he hoped yet to pass the curve safely. 
Suddenly a locomotive dashed into sight right ahead. In an instant there was 
a collision. A shriek, a shock, and fifty souls were in eternity : and all because 
an engineer had been behind time. 

A great battJe was going on. Column after column had been precipitated for 
eight mortal hours on the enemy posted along the ridge of a hill. The summer 
sun was sinking to the west : re enforcements for the obstinate defenders were 
already in sight ; it was necessary to carry the position with one final charge, 
or everything would be lost. 

A powerful corps had been summoned from across the country, and if it 
came up in season all would yet be well. The great conqueror, confident in its 
arrival, formed his reserve into an attacking column, and ordered them to charge 
the enemy. The whole world knows i lie result. Grouchy failed to appear: 
the imperial guard was beaten bark: Waterloo was lost. Napoleon died a pris- 
oner at St. Helena because one of his marshals was behind time. 

A leading firm in commercial circles had long struggled against bankruptcy. 
A.S it had enormous assets in California, it expected remittances by a certain 
day. and if the sums promised arrived, its credit, its honor, and its future pros- 
perity would be preserved, But week after week elapsed without bringing the 
gold. 

At last came the fatal day on which the firm had lulls maturing to enormous 
amounts. The steamer was telegraphed al daybreak: but it was found on in- 
quiry, that she brought no funds, and the house failed. The next arrival 
brought nearly half a million to the insolvents, but it was too late; they were 
ruined because their agent, in remitting, had been behind Hint. 

A condemned man was led out for execution. He had taken human life, but 
under circumstances of the greatest provocation, and public sympathy was 
active in his behalf. Thousands had signed petitions for his reprieve, a favor- 
able answer had been expected the night before, and though it had not come. 
even the sheriff felt confident thai it would yet arrive in season. 

Thus the morning passed without the appearance of the messenger. The 
last moment was up. The prisoner took his place on the drop, the cap was 
drawn over his eyes, the bolt was drawn, and a lifeless body swung revolving 
in the wind. 

.lust at that moment a horseman came into sight, galloping down hill, his 
steed covered with foam. lie carried a packet in his right hand, which he 
waved rapidly to the crowd. lie was the express rider with the reprieve. But 
he had come too late. A comparatively innocent man had died an ignominious 
death, because a watch had been \)\c minutes too slow, making its bearer arrive 
behind tiim . 

It is continually so in life. The best laid plans, the mosl important affairs, 
the fortunes of individuals, the weal of nations, honor, happiness, life itself, are 
daily sacrificed because somebody is "behind time." There are men who always 
fail in whatever they undertake, simply because they are "behind time." There 
are others who put off reformation year by year, till death seizes them, and they 
perish unrepentant, because forever "behind time." 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 57 

Five minutes in a crisis is worth years. It is but a little period, yet it has 
often saved a fortune or redeemed a people. If there is one virtue that should 
be cultivated more than another by him who would succeed in life, it is punctu- 
ality: if there is one error that should be avoided, it is being behind time. 



THE AUTHOR OF "SWEET HOME." 

As I sit at my window here in Washington, watching the course of great 
men. and the destiny of party. I meet often with strange contradictions in this 
eventful life. The most remarkable was that of John Howard Payne, author 
of " Sweet Home." I knew him personally. He occupied the rooms under me 
for some time: and his conversation was -0 captivating, that I often spent whole 
days in his apartments. 

He was an applicant for office at the time — consul at Tunis — from which 
he had been removed. "VThat a sad thing it was to see the poet subjected to the 
humiliation of office seeking ! In the evening we would walk along the street. 
Once in awhile we would see some family circle so happy, and forming so beau- 
tiful a group, that we would stop, and then pass silently on. 

On such occasions he would give a history of his wanderings, his trials, and 
all the cares incident to his sensitive nature and poverty. -How often." said he. 
once, "have I been in the heart of Paris. Berlin, and London, or some other city, 
and heard persons singing, or the hand organ playing "Sweet Home." without 
a shilling to buy the next meal, or a place to lay my head. 

••The world has literally sung my song until every heart is familiar with 
its melody. Yet I have been a wanderer from my boyhood. My country has 
turned me ruthlessly from office: and in old age I have to submit to humiliation 
for bread." Thus he would complain of his hapless lot. His only wish was to 
die in a foreign land, to be buried by strangers, and sleep in obscurity. 

I met him one day. looking unusually sad. "Have you got your consulate '? " 
said I. "Yes. and leave in a week for Tunis: I shall never return." The last 
expression was not a political faith. Far from it. Poor Payne ! his wish was 
realized — he died at Tunis. 

Whether his remains have been brought to this country. I know not. They 
should be: and. if none others would do it. let the homeless throughout the world 
give a penny for a monument to Payne. 1 knew him. and will give my penny 
for an inscription like the following: 

Heee lie- ■/. HOWARD PAYNE, the author of "Sweet Home." a 

WAXDEEEE IX LIFE: HE WHOSE SONGS WERE SUNG IN EVERY TONGUE, AND 

FOEXD AX" ECHO IX EVERT HEART. NEVER HAD A HOME: HE DIED IN A EOE- 
EIGX" LAXD. 

THE OLD ARM CHAIR. 

I love it. I love it. and who shall dare 

To chide me for loving that old arm chair? 

I 've treasured it long as a sainted prize. 

I've bedewed it with tears, and embalmed it with sighs: 

"T is bound by a thousand bands to my heart: 

Not a tie will break, not a link will >tart. 

Would ye learn the spell '? a mother sat there. 

And a sacred thing is that old arm chair. 

In childhood's hour I lingered near # « 

The hallowed seat with listening ear: 

And gentle words that mother would give. 

To fit me to die and teach me to live. 

She told me shame would never betide. 

With truth for my creed and God for my guide: 

She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer. 

As I knelt beside that old arm chair. 



58 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

I sat and watched her many a day, 

When her eye grew dim, and her locks were gray; 

And I almost worshiped her when she smiled 

And turned from her Bible to bless her child. 

Years rolled on, but the last one sped — 

My idol was shattered, my earth-star fled: 

I learnt how much the heart can bear, 

When I saw her die in that old arm chair. 

' T is past I 't is past ! but I gaze on it now 
With quivering breath and throbbing brow: 

' T was there she nursed me, ' t was there she died; 
And memory flows with lava tide. 
Say it is folly, and deem me weak, 
While the scalding drops start down my cheek; 
But I love it, I love it, and cannot tear 
My soul from a mother's old arm chair. 

WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE! 

Woodman, spare that tree ! 

Touch not a single bough ! 
In youth it sheltered me, 

And I '11 protect it now. 
'T was my forefathers hand 

That placed it near his cot: 
There, woodman, let it stand, 

Thy axe shall harm it not ! 

That old, familiar tree, 

Whose glory and renown 
Are spread o'er land and sea, 

And would'st thou hack it down? 
Woodman, forbear thy stroke! 

Cut not its earth-bound ties: 
( ). spare that aged oak, 

Now towering to the skies ! 

When but an idle boy, 

I sought its grateful shade; 
In all their gushing joy. 

Here, too. my sisters played. 
My mother kissed me here; 

My fat 1 kt pressed my hand — 
Forgive this foolish tear, 

But let that old oak stand ! 

My heart strings round thee cling, 

(lose as thy bark, old friend ! 
Here shall the wild bird sing, 

And still thy branches bend. 
Old tree, the storm still brave ! 

And, woodman, leave the spot; 
AVhile I 've a hand to save, 

Thy axe shall harm it not. 

LITTLE BENNY. 

I had told him Christmas morning, 
As lie sat upon my knee, 

Holding fast his little stockings, 
Stuffed as full as full could be, 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 59 

Arid attentive, listening to me, 

With a face demure and mild, 
That old Santa Claris, who filled them, 

Did not love a naughy child. 

"But we'll be dood, won't we, moder?" 

And from off my lap he slid, 
Digging deep among the goodies 

In his crimson stockiug hid, 
While I turned me to my table, 

Where a tempting goblet stood, 
Brimming high with dainty custard 

Sent me by a neighbor good. 

But the kitten, there before me, 

With his white paw, nothing loth, 
Sat, by way of entertainment, 

Lapping off the shining froth; 
And, in not the gentlest humor 

At the loss of such a treat, 
I confess I rather rudely 

Thrust him out into the street. 

Then how Benny's blue eyes kindled ! 

Gathering up the precious store 
He had busily been pouring 

In his tiny pinafore, 
With a generous look that shamed me, 

Sprang he from the carpet bright, 
Showing by his mein indignant, 

All a baby's sense of right. 

' ' Come back, Harney ! " called he, loudly, 

As he held his apron white, 
"You sail have my candy wabbit!" 
But the door was fastened tight; 
So he stood, abashed and silent, 

In the center of the floor, 
With defeated look alternate 
Bent on me and on the door. 

Then, as by some sudden impulse, 

Quickly ran he to the fire, 
And while eagerly his bright eyes 

Watching the flames grow higher, higher, 
In a brave, clear key he shouted, 

Like some lordly little elf, 
"Santa Kaus, tome down de chimney; 

Make my moder 'have herself ! " 

"1 will be a good girl, Benny," 

Said I, feeling the reproof ; 
And straightway recalled poor Harney, 

Mewing on the gallery roof. 
Soon the anger was forgotten, 

Laughter chased away the frown, 
And they gamboled 'neath the live oaks 

Till the dusky night came down. 

In my dim, fire-lighted chamber 

Harney purred beneath my chair, 
And my play-worn boy beside me 

Knelt to say his evening prayer: 



60 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

"God bess fader, God bess moder, 
God bess sister" — then a pause, 
And the sweet young lips devoutly 
Murmured, "God bess Santa Kaus." 

He is sleeping; brown and silken 

Lie the lashes, long and meek, 
Like caressing, clinging shadows, 

On his plump and peachy cheek; 
And I bend above him, weeping 

Thankful tears, O Undefiled ! 
For a woman's crown of glory — 

For the blessing of a child. 



THE DRUMMER BOY. 

Captain Graham, the men were sayin' 

Ye would want a drummer lad, 
So I 've brought my boy Sandie, 

Tho' my heart is woful sad; 
But nae bread is left to teed us, 

And no siller to buy more, 
For the gudeman sleeps forever, 

Where the heather blossoms o'er. 

Sandie, make your manners quickly, 

Play your blithest measure true — 
Give us 'Flowers of Edinboro',' 

While yon lifer plays it too. 
Captain, heard ye e'er a player 

Strike in truer time than he?" 
Nay, in truth, brave Sandie Murray 

Drummer of our corps shall be." 

I give ye thanks — but, Captain, maybe 

Ye will hae a kindly care 
For the friendless, lonely laddie, 

When the battle wark is sair: 
For Sandie *s aye been good and gentle, 

And ['ve nothing else to love, 
Nothing — but the grave off yonder, 

And the Father up above." 

Then, her rough hand gently laying 

On the curl-encircled bead, 
She blessed her boy. The tent was silent, 

And not another word was said; 
For Captain Graham was sadly dreaming 

Of a benison, long ago 
Breathed above his head, then golden, 

Bending now, and touched with snow. 

Good-bye, Sandie." "Good-bye, mother, 

I'll come back some summer day: 
Don't you fear—they don't shoot drummers 

Ever. Do they, Captain Gra ? 

One more kiss — watch for inc. mother, 

You will know 'tis surely me 
Coming home — for you will hear me 

Playing soft the reveille." 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 61 

After battle. Moonbeams ghastly 

Seemed to link in strange affright, 
As the scudding clouds before them 

Shadowed faces dead and white; 
And the night wind softly whispered, 

When low moans its light wing bore — 
Moans that ferried spirits over 

Death's dark waye to yonder shore. 

Wandering where a footstep careless 

Might go splashing down in blood, 
Or a helpless hand lay grasping 

Death and daisies from the sod — 
Captain Graham walked swift onward, 

While a faintly-beaten drum 
Quickened heart and step together: 

' ' Sandie Murray ! See, I come ! 

"Is it thus I find you, laddie ? 
Wounded, lonely, lying here, 
Playing thus the reveille ? 

See — the morning is not near." 
A moment paused the drummer boy, 
And lifting up his drooping head: 
"Oh, Captain Graham, the light is coming. 
'T is morning, and my prayers are said. 

' ' Morning ! See, the plains grow brighter — 

Morning — and I'm going home; 
That is why I play the measure, 

Mother will not see me come; 
But you'll tell her, won't you, Captain — " 

Hush, the boy has spoken true; 
To him the day has dawned forever, 

Unbroken by the night's tattoo. 



A LEGEND OF 1796. 

They ran through the streets of the seaport town, 

They peered from the decks of the shore where they lay; 

The cold sea fog that came whitening down 
Was never so cold or white as they. 

Ho ! Starbuck, and Pinckney, and Tenderdon ! 
Run for your shallops, gather your men, 
Scatter your fleet on the lower bay." 
Good cause for fear. In tlie thick mid-day 
A hulk that lay by the rotten pier, 
Filled with children in happy play, 
Parted its moorings and drifted clear; 
Drifted clear beyond reach or call, 
Thirteen children there were in all, 
All adrift on the lower bay. 

Said a hard-faced skipper, "God help us all, 

She will not float till the turning tide." 

Said his wife, "My darlings will hear my call 

Whether in sea or heaven they bide; " 

And she lifted a quavering voice and high, 

Wild and strange as a sea bird's cry, 

Till they shuddered and wondered at her side. 



62 TWENTY LESSONS IN BEADING, 

The fog drove down on each laboring crew; 

Veiled each from each, and the sky and shore: 

There was not a sound but the breath they drew 

And the lap of water and creak of oar; 

And they felt the breath of the downs, fresh blown 

O'er leagues of clover and cold gray stone; 

But not from the lips that had gone before. 

They come no more; but they tell the tale 

That when fogs are thick on the harbor reef, 

The mackerel fishers shorten sail; 

For the signal, they know, will bring relief; 

For the voices of children still at play 

In phantom hulk that drifts alway 

Through channels whose waters never fail. 

'T is only a foolish shipman's tale, 

A theme for a poet's idle page; 

But still, when the mists of doubt prevail. 

And we lie becalmed by the shores of age, 

We hear from the misty, troubled shore 

The voices of children, gone before, 

Calling the soul to its anchorage. 



CLAUDE MELXOTTE'S APOLOGY. 

Pauline (laughing irildly). This is thy palace, where the per- 
fumed light 
Steals through the mist of alabaster lamps, 
And every air is heavy with the sighs 
Of orange groves, and music from the sweet lutes, 
And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth 
I" the midst of roses ! Dost thou like the picture? 
Tins is my bridal home, and THOU my bridegroom ! 

fool ! — O dupe ! — wretch ! — I see it all — 
The by-word and the jeer of every tongue 

In Lyons ! Hast thou in thy heart one touch 
Of human kindness? If thou hast. why. kill me, 
And save thy wife from madness. No, it cannot, 
It cannot be ! this is some horrid dream: 

1 shall wake soon. (Touching him.) Art flesh? art man? or but 
The shadows seen in sleep? — It is too real, 

What have I done to thee — how sinned against thee, 
That thou shouldst crush me thus ? 

Melnotte. Pauline! by pride 

Angels have fallen ere thy time; by pride — 
That sole alloy of thy most lovely mold — 
The evil spirit of a bitter love, 
And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee. 
From my first years, my soul was filled with thee: 
I saw thee, midst the flowers the lowly boy 
Tended, unmarked by thee — a spirit of bloom, 
And joy, and freshness, as if spring itself 
"Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape ! 
I saw thee ! and the passionate heart of man 
Entered the breast of the wild-dreaming boy; 
And from that hour I grew — what to the last 
I shall be — thine adorer! Well ! this love, 
Vain, frantic, guilt}', if thou wilt, became 
A fountain of ambition and bright hope: 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 63 

I thought of tales that by the winter hearth 

Old gossips tell — how maidens, sprung from kings, 

Have stooped from their high sphere; how love, like death, 

Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook 

Beside the scepter. Thus I made my home 

In the soft palace of a fairy future ! 

My father died ; and I, the peasant born, 

Was my. own lord. Then did I seek to rise 

Out of the prison of my mean estate; 

And, with such jewels as the exploring mind 

Brings from the caves of knowledge, buy my ransom 

From those twin jailers of the daring heart — 

Low birth and iron fortune. Thy bright image, 

Glassed in my soul, took all the hues of glory, 

And lured me on to those inspiring toils 

By which man masters man ! For thee I grew 

A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages: 

For thee I sought to borrow from each grace, 

And every muse, such attributes as lend 

Ideal charms to love. I thought of thee, 

And passion taught ine poesy — of thee, 

And on the painter's canvas grew the life 

Of beauty ! — Art became the shadow 

Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes ! 

Men called me vain — some mad: I heeded not, 

But still toiled on — hoped on — for it was sweet, 

If not to win, to feel more worthy thee ! 

Pauline. Has he a magic to exorcise hate ? 

Melnotte. At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pour 
The thoughts that burst their channels into song, 
And sent them to thee, — such a tribute, lady, 
As beauty rarely scorns, even from the meanest. 
The name — appended by the burning heart 
That longed to show its idol what bright things 
It had created — yea, the enthusiast's name 
That should have been thy triumph, was thy scorn ! 
That very hour, — when passion, turned to wrath, 
Resembled hatred most — when thy disdain 
Made my whole soul a chaos, — in that hour 
The tempters found me a revengeful tool 
For their revenge ! Thou hadst trampled on the worm — 
It turned and stung thee ! 



PAPA'S LETTER. 

I was sitting in my study, 

Writing letters, when I heard — 
■ ' Please, dear mamma, Mary told me 
That you must n't be disturbed. 

'But I'se tired of the kitty, 

Want some ozzer fing to do. 

Writing letters, is 'ou, mamma ? 

Tant I wite a letter, too?" 

"Not now, darling, mamma's busy; 

Run and play with kitty now." 
"No, no, mamma; me wite letter, 

Ten you will show me how." 



64 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

I would paint rny darling's portrait, 
As his sweet eyes searched my face — 

Hair of gold and eyes of azure, 
Form of childish, witching grace. 

But the eager face was clouded, 
As I slowly shook my head, 

Till 1 said — "I'll make a letter 
Of you, darling boy, instead." 

So I parted back the tresses 

From his forehead high and white, 

And a stamp in sport I pasted, 
'Mid its waves of golden light. 

Then I said, "Now, little letter, 
Go away and bear good news," 

And I smiled as down the staircase 
Clattered loud the little shoes. 

Leaving me, the darling hurried 
Down to Mary in his glee: 
••Mamma's witing lots of letters: 
I'se a letter, Mary, see." 

No one heard the little prattler, 
As once more lie climbed the stair, 

Reached his little cap and tippet, 
Standing on the table there. 

No one liea rd the front door open, 
No one saw the golden hair, 

A- ii floated o'er his shoulders 
On the crisp October air. 

Down the street the baby hastened, 
Till he reached the office door: 
"1 'se a letter. Mr. Postman. 

1- i here room tor any more? 

"'Cause this letter's going to papa; 
Papa lives with God, 'on know; 
Mamma sent me for a letter, 
Does 'on link 'at I tan do'.'" 

But the clerk in wonder answered, 
••Not to-day, my little man." 
"Den I'll find ano/./.er office, 
'Cause I must do if 1 tan." 

Fain the clerk would have detained him, 
But the pleading face was gone. 

And the little feetTwere hast'ning, 
By the busy crowd swept on. 

Suddenly the crowd was parted, 
People fled to left and right, 

As a pair of maddened horses 
At that moment dashed in sight. 

No one saw the baby figure, 
No one saw the golden hair, 

Till a voice of frightened sweetness 
Rang out on the autumn air. 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 65 

'T was too late ! A moment only 

Stood the beauteous vision there, 
Then the little face lay lifeless, 

Covered o'er with golden hair. 

Rev'rently they raised my darling, 

Brushed away the curls of gold, 
Saw the stamp upon the forehead 

Growing now so icy cold. 

Not a mark the face disfigured, 

Showing where a hoof had trod; 
But the little life was ended — 

"Papa's letter" was with God ! 



OUR FOLKS. 

" Hi ! Harry Holly ! Halt,— and tell 

A fellow just a thing or two; 
You 've had a furlough, been to see 

How all the folks in Jersey do. 
It's months ago since I was there, — 

I, and a bullet from Fair Oaks. 
When you were home, — old comrade, say, 

Did you see any of our folks ? 

You did? Shake hands, — Oh, aint I glad; 

For if I do look grim and rough, 
I've got some feelin' — people think 

A soldier's heart is mighty tough; 
But, Harry, when the bullets fly, 

And hot saltpetre flames and smokes, 
While whole battalions lie afield, 

One's apt to think about his folks. 

And so you saw them — when ? and where ? 

The old man — is he hearty yet? 
And mother — does she fade at all? 

Or does she seem to pine and fret 
For me ? And Sis — has she grown tall ? 
And did you see her friend — you know 

That Annie Moss — (How this pipe chokes ! 
Where did you see her? — tell me, Hal, 

A lot of news about our folks. 

You saw them in the church, you say; 

It 's likely, for they 're always there. 
Not Sunday ? no ? A funeral ? Who ? 

Who, Harry ? how you shake and stare ! 
All well, you say, and all were out. 

What ails you, Hal ? Is this a hoax ? 
Why don't you tell me, like a man, 

What is the matter with our folks ? " 

1 ' I said all well, old comrade, true; 

I say all well, for He knows best 
Who takes the young ones in His arms 

Before the sun goes to the west. 
The axe man, Death, deals right and left. 

And flowers fall as well as oaks; 
And so — fair Annie blooms no more ! 

And that's the matter with your folks. 



— 5 



66 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

See, this long curl was kept for you; 

And this white blossom from her breast; 
And here — your sister Bessie wrote 

A letter, telling all the rest, 
Bear up, old friend." Nobody speaks; 

Only the old camp raven croaks, . 
And soldiers whisper: "Boys, be still; 

There's some bad news from Granger's folks." 
He tiirus his back — the only foe 

That ever saw it — on his grief, 
And, as men will, keeps down the tears 

Kind Nature sends to Woe's relief. 
Then answers he, "Ah, Hal, I'll try; 

But iu my throat there's something chokes, 
Because, you see, I 've thought so long 

To count her iu auiong our folks. 
I s'pose she must be happy now, 

But still I will keep thinking too, 
I could have kept all trouble off 

By being tender, kind, and true. 
But maybe not. She 's safe up there, 

And, when His hand deals other strokes, 
She '11 stand by heaven's gate, I know, 

And wait to welcome in our folks." 

ASLEEP AT THE SWITCH. 

The fust thing that I remember was Carlo tugging away, 

With the sleeves of my coat fast in his teeth, pulling as much as to say: 

"Come, master, awake, and tend to the switch, lives now depend upon yon, 

Think of the souls in the coining train and the graves you're sending them to; 

Think of the mother and babe at her breast, think of the father and son, 

Think of the lover, and loved one, too, think of them doomed every one 

To fall, as it were, by your very hand, into yon fathomless ditch, 

Murdered by one who should guard them from harm, who now lies asleep at the 

switch." 
I sprang up amazed, scarce knew where I stood, sleep had o'ermastered me so; 
I could hear the wind hollowly howling and the deep river dashing below, 
I could hear the forest leaves rustling as the trees by the tempest were fanned, 
But what was that noise at a distance? That — I could not understand ! 
I heard it at first indistinctly, like the rolling of some muffled drum, 
Then nearer and nearer it came to me, and made my very ears hum; 
What is this light that surrounds me and seems to set fire to my brain? 
What whistle's that yelling so shrilly ! O, God ! I know now — it's the train. 
We often stand facing some danger, and seem to take root to the place; 
So 1 stood with this demon before me, its heated breath scorching my face, 
Its headlight made day of the darkness, and glared like the eyes of some witch; 
•The train was almost upon me, before 1 remembered the switch. 
I sprang to it, seizing it wildly, the train dashing fast down the track, 
The switch resisted my efforts, some devil seemed holding it back; 
On, on, came the fiery-eyed monster and shot by my face like a flash; 
1 swooned to the earth the next moment, and knew nothing after the crash. 
How long I lay ihere unconscious were impossible for me to tell. 
My stupor was almost a heaven, my waking almost a hell — 
For 1 then heard the piteous moaning and shrieking of husbands and wives. 
And I thought of the day we all shrink from, when I must account for their lives; 
Mothers rushed by me like maniacs, their eyes staring madly and wild; 
Fathers, losing their courage, gave way to their grief like a child; 
Children searching for parents, I noticed, as by me they sped, 
And lips that could form naught but "Mamma," were calling for one perhaps dead. 



FOB USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 67 

My mind was made up in a second, the river should hide me away: 

When, under the still burning rafters, I suddenly noticed there lay 

A little white hand; she who owned it was doubtless an object of love 

To one whom her loss would drive frantic, tho' she guarded him now from above; 

I tenderly lifted the rafters and quietly laid them one side: 

How little she thought of her journey, when she left for this last fatal ride: 

I lifted the last log from off her, and, while searching for some spark of life, 

Turned her little face up in the starlight, and recognized — Maggie, my wife ! 

Oh, Lord ! Thy scourge is a hard one, at a blow Thou has shattered my pride: 

My life will be one endless night-time, with Maggie away from my side; 

How often we've sat down and pictured the scenes in our long, happy life: 

How I 'd strive through all of my lifetime to build up a home for my wife. 

How people would envy us always in our cosey and neat little nest, 

When I would do all the labor, and Maggie should all the day rest: 

How one of God's blessings might cheer us, when some day I p'raps should be 

rich, 
But all of my dreams have been shattered, while I lay there asleep at the switch. 

I fancied I stood on my trial, the jury and judge I could see, 

And every eye in the court room was steadfastly fixed upon me, 

And fingers were pointed in scorn, till I felt my face blushing blood red, 

And the next thing I heard were the words, "Hung by the neck until dead." 

Then I felt myself pulled once again, and my hand caught tight hold of a dress. 

And I heard, "What's the matter, dear Jim? You've had a bad nightmare, I 

guess." 
And there stood Maggie, my wife, with never a scar from the ditch — 
I 'd been taking a nap in my bed and had not been asleep at the switch. 

LITTLE JIM. 

The cottage was a thatched one, the outside old and mean, 
But all within that little cot was wondrous neat and clean; 
The night was dark and stormy, the wind was howling wild, 
As a patient mother sat beside the deathbed of her child: 
A little worn-out creature, his once bright eyes grown dim: 
It was a collier's wife and child, they called him Little Jim. 
And oh! to see the briny tears fast hurrying down her cheek. 
As she offered up the prayer, in thought, she was afraid to speak, 
Lest she might waken one she loved far better than her life; 
For she had all a mother's heart, had that poor collier's wife. 
With hands uplifted, see, she kneels beside the sufferer's bed. 
And prays that He would spare her boy, and take herself instead. 
She gets her answ T er from the child: soft fall the w r ords from him, 

"Mother, the angels do so smile, and beckon Little Jim: 
I have no pain, dear mother, now, but O ! I am so dry; 
Just moisten poor Jim's lips again, and, mother, don't you cry." 
With gentle, trembling haste she held the liquid to his lip; 
He smiled to thank her, as he took each little, tiny sip. 

"Tell father, when he comes from work, I said good-night to him. 
And, mother, now I '11 go to sleep." Alas ! poor Little Jim ! 
She knew r that he w T as dying; that the child she loved so dear 
Had uttered the last w T ords she might ever hope to hear: 
The cottage door is opeued, the collier's step is heard, 
The father and the mother meet, yet neither speak a word. 
He felt that all was over; he knew his child was dead; 
He took the candle in his hand and walked toward the bed: 
His quivering lips gave token of the grief he 'd fain conceal. 
And see, his wife has joined him — the stricken couple kneel: 
With hearts bowed dowm by sadness, they humbly ask of Him. 
Iu heaven once more to meet again their own poor Little Jim. 



68 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 



THE DEATH OF HAMILTON. 

A short time since, and he, who is the occasion of our sorrows, was the 
ornament of his country. He stood on an eminence, and glory covered him. 
From that eminence he has fallen: suddenly, forever fallen. His intercourse 
with the living world is now ended; and those who would hereafter find him, 
must seek him in the grave. There, cold and lifeless, is the heart which just 
now was the seat of friendship; there, dim and sightless, is the eye, whose 
radiant and enlivening orb beamed with intelligence; and there, closed forever, 
are those lips, on whose persuasive accents we have so often, and so lately, hung 
with transport ! 

From the darkness which rests upon his tomb there proceeds, methinks, a 
light, in which it is clearly seen that those gaudy objects which men pursue are 
only phantoms. In this light how dimly shines the splendor of victory — how 
humble appears the majesty of grandeur! The bubble, which seemed to have 
so much solidity, has burst; and we again see, that all below the sun is vanity. 

True, the funeral eulogy has been pronounced, the sad and solemn procession 
has moved, the badge of mourning has already been decreed, and presently the 
sculptured marble will lift up its front, proud to perpetuate the name of Hamil- 
ton, and rehearse to the passing traveler his virtues (just tributes of respect, 
and to the living useful ); but to him, moldering in his narrow and humble 
habitation, what are they ? How vain ! how unavailing ! 

Approach, and behold, while I lift from his sepulcher its covering ! Ye ad- 
mirers of his greatness ! ye emulous of his talents and his fame ! approach and 
behold him now. How pale ! how silent ! No martial bands admire the adroit- 
ness of his movements; no fascinated throng weep, and melt, and tremble at 
his eloquence ! Amaziug change ! a shroud ! a coffin ! a narrow, subterraneous 
cabin ! — this is all that now remains of Hamilton ! And is this all that remains 
of Hamilton? During a life so transitory, what lasting monument, then, can 
our fondest hopes erect ! 

My brethren, we stand on the borders of an awful gulf, which is swallowing 
up all things human. And is there, amidst this universal wreck, nothing stable, 
nothing abiding, nothing immortal, on which poor, frail, dying man can fasten ? 
Ask the hero, ask the statesman, whose wisdom you have been accustomed to 
revere, and he will tell you. He will tell you, did I say? He has already 
told you, from his death bed; and his illumined spirit still whispers from the 
heavens, with well-known eloquence, the solemn admonition: "Mortals hasten- 
ing to the tomb, and once the companions of my pilgrimage, take warning and 
avoid my errors; cultivate the virtues I have recommended; choose the Saviour 
I have chosen; live disinterestedly; live for immortality; and would you rescue 
anything from final dissolution, lay it up in God." 

AN ORDER FOR A PICTURE. 

O, good painter, tell me true, 

Has your hand the cunning to draw 

Shapes of things that you never saw ? 
Aye ? Well, here is an order for you. 

Woods and cornfields a little brown, — 

The picture must not be over-bright, — 

Yet all in the golden and gracious light 
Of a cloud when the summer sun is down. 

Always and always, night and morn, 
Woods upon woods, with fields of corn 

Lying between them, not quite sere, 
And not in the full, thick, leafy bloom; 
When the wind can hardly find breathing room 

Under their tassels, — cattle near, 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 69 

Biting shorter the short green grass, 
And a hedge of sumach and sassafras, 
With bluebirds twittering all around, — 
Ah, good painter, you can 't paint sound ! 

These and the little house where I was born, 

Low and little and black and old, 

With children, many as it can hold, 

All at the windows, open wide, — 

Heads and shoulders clear outside, 

And fair young faces all ablush; 

Perhaps you may have seen, some day, 

Roses crowding the self-same way, 
Out of a wilding, wayside bush. 

Listen closer. When you have done 

With woods and cornfields and grazing herds. 

A lady, the loveliest ever the sun 

Looked down upon, you must paint for me; 

Oh, if I only could make you see 

The clear blue eyes, the tender smile, 
The sovereign sweetness, the gentle grace, 
The woman's soul and the angel's face 
That are beaming on me all the while ! 
I need not speak these foolish words: 

Tet one word tells you all I would say, — 
She is my mother: you will agree 

That all the rest may be thrown awav. 

Two little urchins at her knee 

You must paint, sir; one like me, — 

The other with a clearer brow, 

And the light of his adventurous eyes 

Flashing with boldest enterprise: 

At ten years old he went to sea, — 

God knoweth if he be living now, — 

He sailed in the good ship "Commodore," — 

Nobody ever crossed her track 

To bring us news, and she never came back. 
Ah, 't is twenty long years and more 
Since that old ship went out of the bay 

With my great-hearted brother on her deck: 

I watched him till he shrank to a speck, 
And his face was toward me all the way. 
Bright his hair was, a golden brown, 

The time we stood at our mother's knee; 
That beauteous head, if it did go down. 

Carried sunshine into the sea ! 

Out in the fields one summer night 

We were together, half afraid 
Of the corn-leaves' rustling, and of the shade 

Of the high hills, stretching so still and far, — 
Loitering till after the low little light 
Of the candle shone through the open door. 

And, over the haystack's pointed top. 

All of a tremble and ready to drop 
The first half-hour, the great yellow star 

That we, with staring, ignorant eyes, 
Had often and often watched to see 

Propped and held in its place in the skies 
By the fork of a tall, red mulberry tree, 



fO TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

Which close in the edge of our flax field grew, — 
Dead at the top, — just one branch full 
Of leaves, notched round, and lined with wool, 

From which it tenderly shook the dew 
Over oar heads, when we came to play 
In Tts handbreadth of shadow, day after day; 

Afraid to go home, sir ; for one of us bore 

A nest full of speckled and thin-shelled eggs, — - 

The other a bird, held fast by the legs, 

Not so big as a straw of wheat ; 

The berries we gave her she would n't eat, 

But cried aud cried, till we held her bill, 

So slim and shining, to keep her still. 

At last we stood at our mother's knee. 
Do you think, sir, if you try, 
You can paint the look of a lie ? 

If you can, pray have the grace 

To put it solely in the face 

Of the urchin that is likest me : 

I think 'twas solely mine, indeed: 

But that's no matter. — paint it so; 

The eyes of our mother — (take good heed) — 

Looking not on the nest-full of eggs. 

Nor the fluttering bird, held so fast by the legs. 
But straight through our faces, down to our lies. 
And oli. with such injured, reproachful surprise, 

I felt my heart bleed where that glance went, as though 

A sharp blade struck through it. 

You, sir, know 

That you on the canvas are to repeat 

Things that are fairest, things most sweet, — 

Woods and cornfields and mulberry tree, — 

The mother. — the lads, with their bird at her knee, 

But, oh, that look of reproachful woe ! 

High as the heavens your name I'll shout, 

If you paint me the picture, and leave that out. 

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 

It was the schooner Hesperus, 

That sailed the wintry sea: 
And the skipper had taken his little daughter, 

To bear him company. 
Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax, 

Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 
And her bosom white as the- hawthorn buds, 

That ope in the month of May. 
The skipper he stood beside the helm, 

Bis pipe was in his mouth. 
And watched how the veering flaw did blow 

The smoke now west, now south. 
Then up and spake an old sailor, 

Had sailed the Spanish main: 
•• 1 pray thee, put into yonder port, 

For 1 fear a hurricane. 
•'Last night, the moon had a golden ring, 

And to-night no moon we see !" 
The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, 

And a scornful laugh laughed he. 



FOR USE IX NORMAL INSTITUTES. 71 

Colder and louder blew the wind. 

A gale from the northeast: 
The snow fell hissing in the brine. 

And the billows frothed like yeast. 

Down came the storm, and smote amain, 

The vessel in it< strength: 
She shnddered and patised. like a frighted steed. 

Then leaped her cable's length. 

'•Come hither! come hither! my little daughter. 
And do not tremble so; 
For I can weather the roughest gale, 
That ever wind did blow." 

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat 

Against the stinging blast; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar. 

And bound her to the mast. 
"O father ! I hear the church bells ring, 

say. what may it be ? " 
V, "T is a fog bell on a rock-bound coast !" 

And he steered for the open sea. 
"0 father! I hear the sound of guns. 

O say. what may it be'?" 
"Some ship in distress, that cannot live 

In such an angry sea ! " 
"O father ! I see a gleaming light, 

say. what may it be?" 
But the father answered never a word, 

A frozen corpse was he. 
Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark. 

With his face turned to the skies. 
The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow 

On his fixed and glassy eyes. 
Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed 

That saved she might be: 
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, 

On the lake of Galilee. 
And fast through the midnight dark aud drear, 

Through the whistling sleet and snow, 
Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 

Towards the reef of " Norman's Woe." 

And ever the fitful gusts between 

A sound came from the land: 
It was the sound of the trampling surf, 

On the rocks and the hard sea sand. 

The breakers were right beneath her bows. 

She drifted a dreary wreck. 
And a whooping billow swept the crew 

Like icicles from her deck. 

She struck where the white and fleecy waves 

Looked soft as carded wool. 
But the cruel rocks they gored her side 

Like the horns of an angry bull. 

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, 

With the masts went by the board: 
Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank. 

Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! 



72 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

At daybreak on the bleak sea beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast. 
To see the form of a maiden fair 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 

The salt tears in her eyes; 
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea weed, 

On the billows fall and rise. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 
In the midnight and the snow ! 

Christ save us all from a death like this, 
On the reef of ' ' Norman's Woe ! " 



GOD'S FIRST TEMPLES. 

The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned 

To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, 

And spread the roof above them, — ere he framed 

The lofty vault, to gather and roll back 

The sound of anthems, — in the darkling wood, 

Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down 

And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks 

And supplication. For his simple heart 

Might not resist the sacred influences, 

That, from the stilly twilight of the place, 

And from the gray old trunks, that, high in heaven, 

Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound 

Of the invisible breath, that swayed at once 

All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed 

His spirit with the thought of boundless Power 

And inaccessible Majesty. All ! why 

Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect 

God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore 

Only among the crowd, and under roofs 

That our frail hands have raised ? Let me, at least, 

Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, 

Offer one hymn; thrice happy, if it find 

Acceptance in His ear. 

Father, Thy hand 
Hath reared these venerable columns: Thou 
Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down 
Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose 
All these fair ranks of trees. They in Thy sun 
Budded, and shook their green leaves in Thy breeze, 
And shot toward heaveu. The century-living crow, 
Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died 
Among their branches; till, at last, they stood, 
As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark, 
Fit shrine for humble worshiper to hold 
Communion with his Maker. 

Here are seen 
No traces of man's pomp or pride; no silks 
Rustle, no jewels shine, nor envious eyes 
Encounter; no fantastic carvings show 
The boast of our vain race to change the form 
Of Thy fair works. But Thou art here; Thou fill'st 
The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds 
That run along the summits of these trees 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 73 

In music; Thou art in the cooler breath, 
That, from the inmost darkness of the place. 
Comes, scarcely felt; the barky trunks, the ground, 
The fresh, moist ground, are all instinct with Thee. 

Here is continual worship; Nature, here, 

In the tranquillity that Thou dost love, 

Enjoys Thy presence. Noiselessly, around, 

From perch to perch, the solitary bird 

Passes; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs, 

Wells softly forth, aud visits the strong roots 

Of half the mighty forests, tells no tale 

Of all the good it does. 

Thou hast not left 
Thyself without a witness, in these shades, 
Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace, 
Are here to speak of Thee. This mighty oak — 
By whose immovable stem I stand, and seem 
Almost annihilated — not a prince, 
In all the proud old world beyond the deep. 
E'er wore his crown as loftily as he 
Wears the green coronal of leaves, with which 
Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root 
Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare 
Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower, 
With scented breath, and look so like a smile, 
Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mold. 
An emanation of the indwelling Life. 
A visible token of the upholding Love, 
That are the soul of this wide universe. 

My heart is awed within me, when I think 
Of the great miracle that still goes on, 
In silence, round me — the perpetual work 
Of Thy creation, finished, yet renewed 
Forever. Written on Thy works, I read 
The lesson of Thy own eternity. 
Lo ! all grow old and die: but see, again, 
How, on the faltering footsteps of decay. 
Youth presses — ever gay and beautiful youth — 
In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees 
Wave not less proudly that their ancestors 
Molder beneath them. 

Oh ! there is not lost 
One of earth's charms: upon her bosom yet, 
After the flight of untold centuries, 
The freshness of her far beginning lies. 
And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate 
Of his arch enemy Death: yea, seats himself 
Upon the sepulcher, and blooms and smiles, 
And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe 
Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth 
From Thine own bosom, aud shall have no end. 

There have been holy men, who hid themselves 
Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave 
Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived 
The generation born with them, nor seemed 
Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks 
Around them; and there have been holy men. 
Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. 



74 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

But let me often to these solitudes 

Retire, and, in Thy presence, reassure 

My feeble virtue. Here, its enemies. 

The passions, at Thy plainer footsteps, shrink, 

And tremble, and are still. 

God ! when Thou 
Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire 
The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill, 
With all the waters of the firmament, 
The swift, dark whirlwind, that uproots the woods 
And drowns the villages: when, at Thy call. 
Uprises the great deep, and throws himself 
Upon the continent, and overwhelms 
Its cities; — who forgets not, at the sight 
Of these tremendous tokens of Thy power, 
His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by ! 
Oh ! from these sterner aspects of Thy face 
Spare me and mine; nor let us need the wrath 
Of the mad, unchained elements, to teach 
Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, 
In these calm shades, Thy milder majesty. 
And to the beautiful order of Thy works 
Learn to conform the order of our lives. 



MARCO BOZZAKIS. 

At midnight, in his guarded tent, 

The Turk was dreaming of the hour 
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 

Should tremble ai his power; 
In dreams, through camp and court he bore 
The trophies of a conquerer; 

In dreams, his song of triumph heard; 
Then wore Ids monarch's signet ring; 
Then pressed that monarch's throne — a king: 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,. 

As Eden's garden bird. 

At midnight, in the forest shades. 

Bozzaris ranged his Suliote hand, 
True as t he steel of their tried blades. 

Heroes in heart and hand. 
There had the Persian's thousands stood. 
There had the glad earth drunk their blood, 

On old Platsea's day: 
And now there breathed that haunted air 
The sons of sires who conquered there, 
With arm to strike, and soul to dare, 

As quick, as far. as they. 

An hour passed on: the Turk awoke: 

That bright dream was his last: 
He woke — to hear his sentries shriek, 
'To arms! they come ! the Greek! the Greek!" 
He woke — to die midst flame, and smoke, 
And shout, and groan, and sabre stroke. 

And death shots falling thick and fast 
As lightnings from the mountain cloud; 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud. 

Bozzaris cheer his band: 



FOB USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 75 

"Strike — till the last armed foe expires ! 
Strike — for your altars and your fires! 
Strike — for the green graves of your sires, 
God, and your native land !" 

They fought, like brave men, long and well ; 

They piled that ground with Moslem slain ; 
They conquered — but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 
His few surviving comrades saw 
His smile when rang their proud hurrah, 

And the red field was won ; 
Then saw in death his eyelids close, 
Calmly, as to a night's repose, 

Like flowers at set of sun. 

Come to the bridal chamber, Death ! 

Come to the mother, when she feels, 
For the first time, her first horn's breath ; 

Come wdien the blessed seals 
That close the pestilence are broke, 
And crowded cities wail its stroke ; 
Come in consumption's ghastly form, 
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ; 
Come when the heart beats high and warm 

With banquet song and dance and w r ine, — 
And thou art terrible : — the tear, 
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, 
And all we know, or dream, or fear 

Of agony, are thine. 

But to the hero, when his sword 

Has won the battle for the free. 
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, 
And in its hollow tones are heard 

The thanks of millions yet to be. 

Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 

Greece nurtured in her glory's time, 
Best. thee : there is no prouder grave. 

Even in her own proud clime. 

We tell thy doom without a sigh ; 
For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's, — 
One of the few, the immortal names 

That were not born to die. 



LADY CLABE. 

It was the time when lilies blow, 
And clouds are highest up in air, 

Lord Bonald brought a lily-white doe 
To give his cousin, Lady Clare. 

I trow they did not part in scorn: 
Lovers long betrothed were they: 

They two shall wed the morrow 7 morn; 
God's blessing on the day ! 

• He does not love me for my birth, 
Nor for my lands so broad and fair; 

He loves me for my own true worth, 
And that is well," said Lady Clare. 



76 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

In there came old Alice the nurse, 

Said, "Who was this that went from thee?" 
"It was my cousin," said Lady Clare; 
"To-morrow he weds with me." 

" O God be thanked !" said Alice the nurse, 
"That all comes round so just and fair; 
Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands, 
And you are not the Lady Clare." 

' ' Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse ? " 

Said Lady Clare, ' ' that ye speak so wild ? " 
"As God's above," said Alice the nurse, 
"I speak the truth: you arc my child. 

"The old earl's daughter died at my breast; 
I speak the truth as I live by bread ! 
I buried her like my own sweet child, 
And put my child in her stead." 

"Falsely, falsely have ye clone, 

O mother," she said, "if this be true, * 
To keep the best man under the sun 
So many years from his due." 

"Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, 
"But keep the secret for your life, 
And all you have will be Lord Ronald's 
When you are man and wife." 

"If I 'm a beggar born," she said, 
"I will speak out, for 1 dare not lie; 
Pull off, pull off the brooch of gold, 
And fling the diamond necklace by." 

"Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, 
"But keep the secret all ye can." 
She said, "Not so: but I will know, 
If there be any faith in man." 

" Nay now, what faith?" said Alice the nurse; 

"The man will cleave unto his right." 
"And he shall have it," the lady replied, 

"Though 1 should die to-night." 

" Yet give one kiss to your mother dear ! 

Alas, my child, I sinned for thee." 
"O mother, mother, mother," she said, 
"So strange it seems to me. 

"Yet here 's a kiss for my mother dear, 
My mother dear, if this be so; 
And lay your hand upon my head, 
And bless me, mother, ere I go." 

She clad herself in a russet gown — 
She was no longer Lady Clare: 

She went by dale, and she went by down, 
With a single rose in her hair. 

The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brough 

Leapt up from Where she lay, 
Dropt her head in the maiden's hand, 

And followed her all the way. 






FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 77 

Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower: 
' ' O Lady Clare, you shame your worth ! 
Why come you drest like a village maid, 
That are the flower of all the earth ? " 

If I come drest like a village maid, 

I am but as my fortunes are: 
I am a beggar born," she said, 
'•And not the Lady Clare." 

'• Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, 
' ' For I am yours in word and deed. 
Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, 
"Your riddle is hard to read." 

Oh, and proudly stood she up ! 

Her heart within her did not fail: 
She looked into Lord Ronald's eyes, 

And told him all her nurse's tale. 

He laughed a laugh of merry scorn: 

He turned and kissed her where she stood: 
' If you are not the heiress born, 

And I," said he, "the next of blood — 

' If you are not the heiress born, 
"And I," said he, "the lawful heir, 
We two will wed to-morrow morn, 
And you shall still be — Lady Clare." 



THE MODERN CAIN. 

' 'Am I my brother's keeper ? " 

Long ago, 
When first the human heart strings felt the touch 
Of Death's cold fingers — when upon the earth 
Shroudless and coffinless Death's first born lay, 
Slain by the hand of violence, the wail 
Of human grief arose — "My son, my son! 
Awake thee from this strange and awful sleep ; 
A mother mourns thee, and her tears of grief 
Are falling on thy pale, unconscious brow : 
Awake and bless her with thy wonted smile." 

In vain, in vain ! that sleeper never woke. 
His murderer fled, but on his brow was fixed 
A stain which baffled wear and washing. As'he fled, 
A voice pursued him to the wilderness : 
1 Where is thy brother, Cain ? " 

"Am I my brother's keeper?" 
O, black impiety that seeks to shun 
The dire responsibility of sin — 
That cries with ever warning voice : 
'Be still — away, the crime is not my own — 
My brother lived — is dead, when, where, 
Or how, it matters not, but he is dead. 
Why judge the living for the dead one's fall ? 

"Am I my brother's keeper?" 

Cain, Cain, 
Thou art thy brother's keeper, and his blood 
Cries up to heaven against thee : every stone 



78 TWENTY LESSONS IN BEADING, 

Will find a tongue to curse thee, and the winds 
Will ever wail this question in thy ear : 
' ' Where is thy brother ? " Every sight and sound 
Will mind thee of the lost. 

I saw a man 

Deal Death unto his brother. Drop by drop 

The poison was distilled for cursed gold ; 

And in the wine cup's ruddy glow sat Death, 

lu visible to that poor, trembling slave. 

He seized the cup, he drank the poison down, 

Rushed forth into the streets — home had he none- 

Staggered and fell and miserably died. 

They buried him — ah ! little recks it where 

His bloated form was given to the worms. 

No stone marked that neglected, lonely spot ; 

No mourner sorrowing at evening came 

To pray by that unhallowed mound ; no hand 

Planted sweet flowers above his place of rest. 

Years passed, and weeds and tangled briers grew 

Above that sunken "grave, and men forgot 

AVho slept there. 

Once had he friends, 
A happy home was his. and love was his. 
His Mary loved him, and around him played 
His smiling children. O, a dream of joy 
Were those unclouded years, and, more than all. 
He had an interest in the world above. 
The big "Old Bible" lay upon the stand, 
And he was wont to read its sacred page 
And then to pray: "Our Fattier, bless the poor, 
And save the tempted from the tempter's art; 
Save us from sin. and let us ever be 
United in thy love, and may we meet, 
When life's last scenes are o'er, around the throne.' 
Thus prayed he — thus lived he — years passed, 
And o'er the sunshine of that happy home 
A cloud came from the pit ; the fatal bolt 
Fell from that cloud. The towering tree 
Was shivered by the lightning's vengeful stroke, 
And laid its coronal of glory low. 
A happy home was ruined; want and woe 
Played with his children, and the joy of youth 
Left their sweet faces no more to return. 
His Mary's face grew pale and paler still, 
Her eyes were dimmed with weeping, and her soul 
Went out through those blue portals. Mary died, 
And yet he wept not. At the demon's call 
He drowned his sorrow in the maddening bowl, 
And when they buried her from sight, he sank 
In drunken stupor by her new-made grave ! 
His friend was gone — he never had another, 
And the world shrank from him, all save one, 
And he still plied the bowl with deadly drugs 
And bade him drink, forget his God, and die ! 
He died. 

Cain! Cain ! where is thy brother now! 
Lives he still — if dead, still where is he? 
Where? In heaven ? Go read the sacred page: 
"No druukard ever shall inherit there." 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 79 

Who sent him to the pit ? Who dragged him down ? 
Who bound him hand and foot ? Who smiled and smiled 
While yet the hellish work went on ? Who grasped 
His gold — his health — his life — -his hope — his all? 
Who saw his Mary fade arid die ? Who saw 
His beggared children wandering in the streets ? 
Speak — coward — if thou hast a tongue, 
Tell why with hellish art you slew a max. 
; Where is thy brother?" 

' 'Am I my brother's keeper ? " 
Ah, man ! A deeper mark is on thy brow 
Than that of Cain. Accursed was the name 
Of him who slew a righteous man, whose soul 
Was ripe for heaven ; thrice accursed he 
Whose art malignant sinks a soul to hell. 



PARKHASIUS AND THE CAPTIVE. 

Paki!hasitjs stood, gazing forgetfully 

Upon his canvas. There Prometheus lay, 

Chained to the cold rocks of Mount Caucasus — 

The vulture at his vitals, and the links 

Of the lame Lemnian festering in his flesh; 

And, as the painter's mind felt through the dim. 

Rapt mystery, and plucked the shadows forth 

With its far-reaching fancy, and with form 

And color clad them, his fine, earnest eye, 

Flashed with a passionate fire, and the quick curl 

Of his thin nostril, and his quivering lip, 

Were like the winged gods, breathing from his flight. 

' ' Bring me the captive now ! 
My hand feels skillful, and the shadows lift 
From my waked spirit airily and swift, 

And I could paint the bow 
Upon the bended heavens — around me play 
Colors of such divinity to-day. 

"Ha ! bind him on his back ! 
Look ! — as Prometheus in my picture here ! 
Quick — or he faints ! — stand with fce cordial near ! 

Now — bend him to the rack ! 
Press down the poisoned links into his flesh ! 
And tear agape that healing wound afresh ! 

"So — let him writhe ! How long 
Will he live thus ? Quick, my good pencil, now ! 
What a fine agony works upon his brow ! 

Ha ! gray haired, and so strong ! 
How fearfully he stifles that short moan ! 
Gods ! if I could but paint a dying groan ! 

"'Pity' thee! Soldo! 
I pity the dumb victim at the altar — 
But does the robed priest for his pity falter ? 

I 'd rack thee, though I knew 
A thousand lives were perishing in thine — 
What were ten thousand to a fame like mine ! 



80 TWENTY LESSONS- IN READING, 

' ' ' Hereafter ! ' Ay — hereafter ! 
A whip to keep a coward to his track ! 
What gave Death ever from his kingdom back 

To check the skeptic's laughter ? 
Come from the grave to-morrow with that story — 
And I may take some softer path to glory. 

"No, no, old man ! we die 
Even as the flowers, and we shall breathe away 
Our life upon the chance wind, even as they ! 

Strain well thy fainting eye — 
For when that bloodshot quivering is o'er, 
The light of heaven will never reach thee more. 

"Yet there's a deathless name ! 
A spirit that the smothering vault shall spurn, 
And like a steadfast planet mount and burn — 

And though its crown of flame 
Consumed my brain to ashes as it shone, 
By all the fiery stars ! I 'd bind it on ! 

"Ay— : though it bid me rifle 
My heart's last fount for its insatiate thirst — 
Though every life-strung nerve be maddened first — 

Though it should bid me stifle 
The yearning in my throat for my sweet child, 
And taunt its mother till my brain went wild — 

"All — I would do it all — 
Sooner than die, like a dull worm, to rot — 
Thrust foully into earth to be forgot ! 

O heavens ! — but 1 appall 

Your heart, old man ! forgive ha! on your lives 

Let him not faint ! — rack him till he revives ! 

4 ' Vain — vain — give o'er ! His eye 
Glazes apace. He does not feel you now — 
Stand back ! I '11 paint the death dew on his brow ! 

Gods ! if he do not die 
But for one moment — one — till I eclipse 
Conception with the scorn of those calm lips ! 

"Shivering! Hark ! he mutters 
Brokenly now — that was a difficult breath — 
Another ? Wilt thou never come, O Death ! 

Look ! how his temple flutters ! 
Is his heai#still ? Aha ! lift up his head ! 
He shudders — gasps — Jove help him ! — so — he's dead.' 

How like a mounting devil in the heart 
Rules the unreined ambition ! Let it once 
But play the monarch, and its haughty brow 
Glows with a beauty that bewilders thought 
And unthrones peace forever. 



RIENZI TO THE ROMANS. 

Fkiends: I come not here to talk ! Ye know too well 

The story of our thralldom; — we are slaves ! 

The bright sun rises to his course, and lights 

A race of slaves ! He sets, and his last beam 

Falls on a slave ! — not such as, swept along 

By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 81 

To crimson glory and undying fame; 

But base, ignoble slaves— slaves to a horde 

Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords, 

Rich in some dozen paltry villages, 

Strong in some hundred spearmen — only great 

In that strange spell, a name ! Each hour, dark fraud. 

Or open rapine, or protected murder, 

Cries out against them. But this very clay, 

An honest man, my neighbor — there he stands — 

Was struck — struck like a dog — by one who wore 

The badge of Ursini ! because, forsooth, 

He tossed not high his ready cap in air, 

Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts, 

At sight of that great ruffian ! Be we men, 

And suffer such dishonor? Men, and wash not 

The stain away in blood? Such shames are common. 

I have known deeper wrongs. I that speak to you. 

I had a brother once, a gracious boy, 

Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope, 

Of sweet and quiet joy; there was the look 

Of heaven upon his face, which limners give 

To the beloved disciple. How I loved 

That gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years, 

Brother at once and son ! He left my side, 

A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile 

Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour, 

The pretty, harmless boy was slain ! I saw 

The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried 

For vengeance ! Rouse, ye Romans ! rouse, ye slaves ! 

Have ye brave sons ? Look, in the next fierce brawl, 

To see them die ! Have ye fair daughters ? Look 

To see them live, torn from your arms, distained, 

Dishonored ! and if ye dare call for justice, 

Be answered by the lash ! Yeb this is Rome, 

That sat on her seven hills, and from her throne 

Of beauty ruled the world ! Yet we are Romans ! 

Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman 

AVas greater than a king ! — and once again — 

Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread 

Of either Brutus ! — once again I swear, 

The eternal city shall be free ! her sons 

Shall walk with princes ! 



TOUSSAINT L'OUYERTURE. 

If I were to tell you the story of Napoleon, I should take it from the lips of 
Frenchmen, who find no language rich enough to paint the great captain of the 
nineteenth century. Were I to tell you the story of Washington, I should take 
it from your hearts, — you, who think no marble white enough on which to carve 
the name of the father of his country. But I am to tell you the story of a ne- 
gro, Toussaint L'Ouverture, who has left hardly one written line. I am to glean 
it from the reluctant testimony of his enemies, men who despised him because 
he was a negro and a slave, hated him because he had beaten them in battle. 

Cromwell manufactured his own army. Napoleon, at the age of twenty- 
seven, was placed at the head of the best troops Europe ever saw. Cromwell 
never saw an army till he was forty ; this man never saw a soldier till he was 
fifty. Cromwell manufactured his own army — out of what? Englishmen, — 
the best blood in Europe. Out of the middle class of Englishmen, j— the best 
blood of the island. And with it he conquered what? Englishmen, — their 
—6 



82 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

equals. This man manufactured his army out of what ? Out of what you call 
the despicable race of negroes, debased, demoralized by two hundred years of 
slavery, one hundred thousand of them imported into the island within four 
years, unable to speak a dialect intelligible even to each other. Yet out of this 
mixed, and, as you say, despicable mass he forged a thunderbolt, and hurled it 
at what? At the proudest blood in Europe, the Spaniard, and sent him home 
conquered ; at the most warlike blood in Europe, the French, and put them un- 
der his feet; at the pluckiest blood in Europe, the English, and they skulked 
home to Jamaica. Now, if Cromwell was a general, at least this man was a 
soldier. 

Now, blue-eyed Saxon, proud of your race, go back with me to the commence- 
ment of the century, and select what statesman you please. Let him be either 
American or European ; let him have a brain the result of six generations of 
culture ; let him have the ripest training of university routine ; let him add to it 
the better education of practical life ; crown his temples with the silver locks of 
seventy years, and show me the man of Saxon lineage for whom his most san- 
guine admirer will wreathe a laurel, rich as embittered foes have placed on the 
brow of this negro, — rare military skill, profouud knowledge of human nature, 
content to blot out all party distinctions, and trust a State to the blood of its 
sons, — anticipating Sir Robert Peel fifty years, and taking his station by the 
side of Roger Williams, before any Englishman or American had won the right; 
and yet this is the record which the history of rival States makes up for this in- 
spired black of St. Domingo. 

Some doubt the courage of the negro. Go to Hayti, and stand on those fifty 
thousand graves of the best soldiers France ever had, and ask them what They 
think of the negro's sword. 

I would call him Napoleon, but Napoleon made his way to empire over broken 
oaths and through a sea of blood. This man never broke his word. I would 
call him Cromwell, but Cromwell was only a soldier, and the State he founded 
went down with him into his grave. I would call him Washington, but the 
great Virginian held slaves. This man risked his empire rather than permit 
the slave trade in the humblest village of his dominions. 

You think me a fanatic, for you read history, not with your eyes, but with 
your prejudices. But fifty years hence, when Truth gets a hearing, the Muse of 
History will put Phocion for the Greek, Brutus for the Roman, Hampden for 
England, Fayette for France, choose Washington as the bright, consummate 
flower of our earlier civilization, then, dipping her pen in the sunlight, will 
write in the clear blue, above them all, the name of the soldier, the statesman, 
the martyr, Toussaint L'Ouvekture. 



THE OLD MAN IN THE MODEL CHURCH. 

Well, wife, I've found the model church! I worshiped there to-day 
It made me think of good old times before my hairs were gray; 
The meetin ' house was fixed up«more than they were years ago, 
But then I felt, when I went in, it was n't built for show. 

The sexton did n't seat me away back by the door; 
He knew that I was old and deaf, as well as old and poor; 
He must have been a Christian, for he led me boldly through 
The long isle of that crowded church to find a pleasant pew. 

I wish you'd heard the singin'; it had the old-time ring; 

The preacher said, with trumpet voice : "Let all the people sing !" 

The tune was "Coronation," and the music upward rolled, 

Till I thought I heard the angels striking all their harps of gold. 

My deafness seemed to melt away; my spirit caught the fire; 
I joined my feeble, trembling voice with that melodious choir, 
And sang as in my youthful days : "Let angels prostrate fall; 
Bring forth the royal diadem, and crown Him Lord of all." 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 83 

I tell you, wife, it did me good to sing that hymn once more; 
I felt like some wrecked mariner who gets a glimpse of shore; 
I almost wanted to lay down this weather-beaten form, 
And anchor in that blessed port, forever from the storm. 

The preachin' ? Well, I can 't just tell all that the preacher said; 
I know it wasn't written; I know it wasn't read; 
He had n't time to read it, for the lightnin' of his eye 
Went flashin' 'long from pew to pew, nor passed a sinner by. 

The sermon was n't flowery; 't was simple Gospel truth; 
It fitted poor old men like me; it fitted hopeful youth; 
'T was full of consolation, for weary hearts that bleed; 
'T was full of invitations to Christ and not to creed. 

How swift the golden minutes fled, within that holy place; 
How brightly beamed the light of heaven from every happy face; 
Again I longed for that sweet time, when friend shall meet with friend, 
'When congregations ne'er break up, and Sabbaths have no end." 

I hope to meet that minister — that congregation, too — 

In that dear home beyond the stars that shine from heaven's blue, 

I doubt not I '11 remember, beyond life's evenin' gray, 

The happy hour of worship in that model church to-day. 

Bear wife, the fight will soon be fought — the victory soon be won; 
The shinin' goal is just ahead; the race is nearly run; 
O'er the river we are nearin', they are throngin' to the shore, 
To shout our safe arrival where the weary weep no more. 



THE RED JACKET. 

'T is a cold, bleak night ! with angry roar 
The north winds beat and clamor at the door; 
The drifted snow lies heaped along the street, 
Swept by a blinding storm of hail and sleet; 
The clouded heavens no guiding starlight lend, ' 
But o'er the earth in gloom and darkness bend; 
Gigantic shadows, by the night lamps thrown, 
Bance their weird revels fitfully alone. 

In lofty halls, where fortune takes its ease, 
Sunk in the treasures of all lands and seas; 
In happy homes, where warmth and comfort meet 
The weary traveler with their smiles to greet; 
In lowly dwellings, where the needy swarm 
Round starving embers, chilling limbs to warm, — 
Rises the prayer that makes the sad heart light — 
'Thank God for home, this bitter, bitter night !" 

But hark ! above the beating of the storm 
Peals on the startled ear the fire alarm. 
Yon gloomy heaven's aflame with sudden light, 
And heart beats quicken with a strange affright; 
From tranquil slumber springs, at duty's call, 
The ready friend no danger can appall; 
Fierce for the conflict, sturdy, true, aud brave, 
He hurries forth to «battle and to save. 

From yonder dwelling, fiercely shooting out, 
Bevouring all they curl themselves about, 
The flaming furies, mounting high and higher, 
Wrap the frail structure in a cloak of fire. 



84 TWENTY LESSONS IN BEADING, 

Strong arms are battling with the stubborn foe 
In vain attempts their power to overthrow; 
With mocking glee they revel with their prey, 
Defying human skill to check their way. 

And see ! far up above the flame's hot breath, 
Something that's human waits a horrid death; 
A little child, with waving, golden hair, 
Stands, like a phantom, 'mid the horrid glare, — 
Her pale, sweet face against the window pressed, 
• While sobs of terror shake her tender breast. 
And from the crowd beneath, in accents wild, 
A mother screams, "O God ! my child ! my child !" 

Up goes a ladder. Through the startled throng 
A hardy fireman swiftly moves along; 
Mounts sure and fast along the slender way, 
Fearing no danger, dreading but delay. 
The stifling smoke clouds lower in his path, 
Sharp tongues of flame assail him in their wrath; 
But up, still up he goes ! the goal is won ! 
His strong arm beats the sash, and he is gone ! 

Gone to his death. The wily flames surround 
And burn and beat his ladder to the ground, 
In flaming columns move with quickened beat 
To rear a massive wall 'gainst his retreat. 
Courageous heart, thy mission was so pure, 
Suffering humanity must thy loss deplore; 
Henceforth with martyred heroes thou shalt live, 
Crowned with all honors nobleness can give. 

Nay, not so fast; subdue these gloomy fears; 
Behold ! he quickly on the roof appears, 
Bearing the tender child, his jacket warm 
Flung round her shrinking form to guard from harm. 
Up with your ladders ! Quick ! 'tis but a chance ! 
Behold, how fast the roaring flames advance ! 
Quick! quick ! brave spirits, to his rescue fly; 
Up ! up ! by heavens, this hero must not die ! 

Silence ! he comes along the burning road, 
Bearing with tender care his living load; 
Aha ! he totters ! Heaven in mercy save 
The good, true heart, that can so nobly brave ! 
He's up again ! and now he's coming fast — 
One moment, and the fiery ordeal's passed — 
And now he's safe ! Bold flames, ye fought in vain. 
A happy mother clasps her child again. 



BATTLE OF WATERLOO. 

There was a sound of revelry by night, 
And Belgium's capital had gathered then 
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright 
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men. 
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 
Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, 
And all went merry as a marriage bell; 
But hush ! hark ! — a deep sound strikes like a rising knell ! 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 85 

Did ye not hear it '? — Xo: 't was but the wind, 
Or the car rattling over the stony street; 
On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined; 
No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet 
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet — 
But, hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once more. 
As if the clouds its echo would repeat, 
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! 
Arm! arm! it is — it is the cannon's opening roar ! 

Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro. 
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 
And cheeks all pale, which, but an hour ago, 
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; 
And there were sudden partings, such as press x 
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
Which ne'er might be repeated: who could guess 
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes. 
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise. 

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, 
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car 
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed. 
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; 
And the deep thunder, peal on peal afar; 
And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
Boused up the soldier ere the morning star: 
While thronged the citizens with terror dumb. 
Or whispering with white lips — "The foe ! They come ! They come !" 

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, 
Dewy with nature's teardrops, as they pass, 
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, 
Over the unreturning brave ! — alas ! 
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass. 
Which, now, beneath them, but above, shall grow, 
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass 
Of living valor, rolling on the foe, 
And burning with high hope, shall molder, cold and low. 

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, 
Last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay, 
The midnight brought the signal sound of strife, 
The morn, the marshaling in arms, — the day, 
Battle's magnificently stern array ! 
The thunder clouds close o'er it, which when rent, 
The earth is covered thick with other clay. 
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent. 
Eider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent. 



MACLAINE'S CHILD. 

Maclaine ! you've scourged me like a hound; 
You should have struck me to the ground: 
You should have played a chieftain's part: 
You should have stabbed me to the heart. 

You should have crushed me into death; 
But here I swear, with living breath. 
That, for this wrong which you have done. 
I'll wreak my vengeance on your son: 



86 TWENTY LESSONS IN BEADING, 

"On him, and you, and all your race !" 
He said, and, bounding from his place, 
He seized the child with sudden hold, 
A smiling infant, three years old. 

And, starting like a hunted stag, 
He scaled the rock, he clomb the crag, 
And reached, o'er many a wide abyss, 
The beetling seawaixLprecipice. 

And, leaning o'er its topmost ledge, 
He held the infant o'er the edge: 
"In vain thy wrath, thy sorrow vain; 
No hand shall save it, proud Maclaine ! " 

With flashing eye, and burning brow, 
The mother followed, heedless how, 
O'er crags with mosses overgrown, , 
And stair-like juts of slippery stone; 

But, midway up the rugged steep, 
She found a chasm she could not leap, 
And, kneeling on its brink, she raised 
Her supplicating hands, and gazed. 

"Oh, spare my child, my joy, my pride ! 

Oh, give me back my child ! " she cried: 
"My child ! my child ! " with sobs and tears, 

She shrieked upon his callous ears. 

"Come, Evan," said the trembling chief, 
His bosom wrung with pride and grief, 

"Kestore the boy, give back my son, 
And I '11 forgive the wrong you 've done ! " 

"I scorn forgiveness, haughty man ! 
You 've injured me before the clan; 
And naught but blood shall wipe away 
The shame I have endured to-day." 

And, as he spoke, he raised the child, 
To dash it 'mid the breakers wild; 
But, at the mother's piercing cry, 
Drew back a step, and made reply: — 

"Fair lady, if your lord will strip, 
And let a clansman wield the whip, 
Till skin shall flay, and blood shall run, 
I'll give you back your little son." 

The lady's cheek grew pale witli ire, 
The chieftain's eye flashed sudden fire; 
He drew a pistol from his breast, 
Took aim, — then dropped it, sore distressed. 

"I might have slain my babe, instead. 
Come, Evan, come," the father said, — 
And through his heart a tremor ran, — 

"We'll fight our quarrel man to man." 

"Wrong unavenged I've never borne," 
Said Evan, speaking loud in scorn; 

"You've heard my answer, proud Maclaine: 
I will not fight you: think again." 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 87 

The lady stood in mute despair, 
With freezing blood and stiffening hair; 
She moved no limb, she spoke no word; 
She could not look upon her lord. 

He saw the quivering of her eye, 
Pale lips, and speechless agony, 
And, doing battle with his pride, 
' Give back the boy : I yield," he cried. 

A storm of passion shook his mind, — 
Anger, and shame, and love combined ; 
But love prevailed, and, bending low, 
He bared his shoulders to the blow. 

'I smite you," said the clansman true ; 
' Forgive me, chief, the deed I do ! 

For, by yon heaven that hears me speak, 

My dirk in Evan's heart shall reek ! " 

But Evan's face beamed hate and' joy ; 
Close to his breast he hugged the boy : 
' Revenge is just, revenge is sweet, 
And mine, Lochbuy, shall be complete." 

Ere hand could stir, with sudden shock, 
He threw the infant o'er the rock, 
Then followed with a desperate leap, 
Down fifty fathoms to the deep. 

They found their bodies in the tide ; 
And never, till the day she died, 
Was that sad mother known to smile, — 
The Niobe of Mulla's isle. 

They dragged false Evan from the sea, 
And hanged him on a gallows tree ; 
And ravens fattened on his brain, 
To sate the vengence of Madame. 



LIBERTY AND UNION, 1830. 

I profess, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view the pros- 
perity and honor of the whole country, and the preservation of our Federal 
Union. It is to that Union we owe our safety at home, and our consideration 
and dignity abroad. It is to that Union that we are chiefly indebted for what- 
ever makes us most proud of our country. That Union we reached only by the 
discipline of our virtues in the severe school of adversity. It had its origin in 
the necessities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. 
Under its benign influences these great interests immediately awoke, as from 
the dead, anil sprung forth with newness of life. Every year of its duration 
has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility and its blessings ; and although our 
territory has stretched out wider and wider, and our population spread farther 
and farther, they have not outrun its protection or its benefits. It has been to 
us all a copious fountain of national, social, and personal happiness. 

I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the Union, to see what might 
lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances 
of preserving liberty, when the bonds that unite us together shall be broken 
asunder. I have not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, 
to see w r hether, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of the abyss below; 
nor could I regard him as a safe counselor in the affairs of this Government, 



88 TWENTY LESSONS IN BEADING, 

whose thoughts should be mainly beut ou considering, not how the Union 
should be preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition of the people 
when it shall be broken up and destroyed. 

While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospects spread 
out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that, I seek not to penetrate 
the veil. God grant that in my day, at least, that curtain may not rise. God 
grant that on my vision never may be opened what lies behind. When my eyes 
shall be turned to behold for the last time the sun in heaven, may I not see him 
shining ou the broken and dishouored fragments of a once glorious Union ; ou 
States dissevered, discordent, belligerent ; on a land rent with civil feuds, or 
drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood ! Let their last feeble and lingeriug 
glance, rather, behold the gorgeous ensign of the republic, now known and hon- 
ored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies 
streaming in their original lustre ; not a stripe erased or polluted, not a single 
star obscured, — bearing for its motto, no such miserable interrogatory as. What 
is all this worth ? nor those other words of delusion and folly : Liberty first, and 
union afterwards ; but everywhere, spread all over in characters of living light. 
blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea and over the land, and 
iu every wind under the whole heaveus, that other sentiment, dear to every true 
American heart, — Liberty and uniou. now and forever, one and inseparable ! 

THE CHARCOAL MAX. 

Though rudely blows the wintry blast, 

And sifting snows fall white and fast, 

Mark Haley drives along the street. 

Perched high upon his wagon seat; 

His sombre face the storm defies, 

And thus from morn till eve he cries, — 
"Charco' ! Charco' !" 

While echo faint and far replies — 
••Hark. O: Hark, O!" 
"Charco' !" — " Hark. !" — Such cheery sounds 

Attend him on his daily rounds. 

The dust begrimes his ancient hat: 

His coat is darker far than that; 

'T is odd to see his sooty form 

All speckled with the feathery storm. 

Yet in his honest bosom lies 

Nor spot, nor speck — though still he cries, 
••Charco* ! Charco' !" 

And many a roguish lad replies — 
••Ark. ho! Ark, ho!" 
••Charco - !" — "Ark, ho!" — Such various sounds 

Announce Mark Haley's morning rounds. 

Thus all the cold and wintry day 

He Labors much for little pay, 

Yet feels no less of happiness 

Than many a richer man, 1 guess. 

When through the shades of eve he spies 

The light of his own home, and cries — 
••charco' ! Charco' !" 

And Martha from the door replies — 
••Mark, ho! Mark, ho!" 
••Charco'!" — ••Mark, ho!" — Such joy abounds 

When he has closed his daily rounds. 

The hearth is warm, the tire is bright: 

And while his hand, washed clean and white. 

Holds Martha's tender hand once more. 

His glowing face bends fondly o'er 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 89 

The crib wherein his darling lies, 
And in a coaxing tone he cries, 

"Charco'! Charco'!" 
And baby with a laugh replies — 

"Ah, go! Ah, go !" 
"Charco' !" — "Ah, go !" — while at the sounds 
The mother's heart with gladness bounds. 

Then honored be the charcoal man, 

Though dusky as an African: 

'T is not for you that chance to be 

A little better clad than he, 

His honest manhood to despise. 

Although from morn till eve he cries — 

"Charco'! Charco'!" 
While mocking echo still replies — 

"Hark, O! Hark, O!" 
"Charco' !" — "Hark, !" — Long may the sounds 
Proclaim Mark Haley's daily rounds. 



ABSALOM. 

The waters slept. Night's silvery veil h\ung low 
On Jordan's bosom, and the eddies curled 
Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still. 
Unbroken beating of the sleeper's pulse. 
The reeds bent down the stream: the willow leaves, 
With a soft cheek upon the lulling tide, 
Forgot the lifting winds: and the long stems 
Whose flowers the water, like a gentle nurse, 
Bears on its bosom, quietly gave way, 
And leaned, in graceful attitude, to rest. 
How strikingly the course of nature tells, 
By its light heed of human suffering, 
That it was fashioned for a happier world. 

King David's limbs were weary. He had fled 

From far Jerusalem: and now he stood 

With his faint people, for a little space, 

Upon the shore of Jordan. The light wind 

Of morn was stirring, and he bared his brow 

To it's refreshing breath; for he had worn 

The mourner's covering, and had not felt 

That he could see his people until now. 

They gathered round him on the fresh, green bank 

And spoke their kindly words: and as the sun 

Rose up in heaven, he knelt among them there, 

And bowed his head upon his hands to pray. 

Oh ! when the heart is full, — when bitter thoughts 

Come crowding thickly up for utterance, 

And the poor, common words of courtesy 

Are such a very mockery — how much 

The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer ! 

He prayed for Israel: and his voice went up 

Strongly and fervently. He prayed for those 

Whose love had been his shield: and his deep tones 

Grew tremulous. But, oh ! for Absalom, — 

For his estranged, misguided Absalom,— 

The proud, bright being who had burst away, 

In all his princely beauty, to defy 



90 TWENTY LESSON'S IN BEADING, 

The heart that cherished him — for him he poured 
In agony that would not be controlled 
Strong supplication, and forgave him there, 
Before his God, for his deep sinfulness. 

* # * # # * * 
The pall was settled. He who slept beneath, 
Was straightened for the grave: and as the folds 
Sank to the still proportions, they betrayed 

The matchless symmetry of Absalom. 
His hair was yet unshorn, and silken curls 
Were floating round the tassels as they swayed 
To the admitted air, as glossy now 
As when, in hours of gentle dalliance, bathing 
The snowy fingers of Judea's girls. 
His helm was at his feet:. his banner, soiled 
- With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid, 
Ee versed, beside him: and the jeweled hilt 
Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade. 
Bested like mockery on his covered brow. 
The soldiers of the king trod to and fro, 
Clad in the garb of battle; and their chief, 
The mighty Joab, stood beside the bier, 
And gazed upon the dark pall steadfastly, 
As if he feared the slumberer might stir. 
A slow step startled him. He grasped his blade 
As if a trumpet rang: but the bent form 
Of David entered, and he gave command 
In a low tone to his few followers, 
And left him with his dead. The king stood still 
Till the last echo died: then, throwing off 
The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back 
The pall from the still features of his child, 
He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth 
In the resistless eloquence of woe: 

••Alas ! my noble boy ! that thou should'st die, — 
Thou who wert made so beautifully fair ! 
That death should settle in thy glorious eye, 

And leave his stillness in this clustering hair — 
How could he mark thee for the silent tomb, 
My proud boy, Absalom ! 

• (Old is thy brow, my son ! and I am chill- 

As to my bosom I have tried to press thee — 
How was i wont to feel my pulses thrill, 

Like a rich harp string, yearning to caress thee — 
And hear- thy sweet 'My father,' from these dumb 
And cold lips, Absalom ! 

"The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush 
Of music, and the voices of the young: 
And life will pass me in the mantling blush, 

And the dark tressses to the soft winds flung, — 
But thou no more with thy sweet voice shalt come 
To meet me, Absalom ! 

••And. oh ! when I am stricken, and my heart, 
Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, 
How will its love for thee, as I depart, 

Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token ! 
It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, 
To see thee, Absalom ! 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 91 

'And now, farewell ! 'T is hard to give thee up, 

With death so like a gentle slumber on thee; 
And thy dark sin — oh ! I could drink the cup 

If from this woe its bitterness had won thee. 
May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home, 
My lost boy, Absalom ! " 

He covered up his face, and bowed himself 
A moment on his child: then giving him 
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped 
His hands convulsively, as if in prayer: 
And as if strength were given him of God, 
He rose up calmly and composed the pall 
Firmly and decently, — and left him there, 
As if his rest had been a breathing sleep. 



EMMETT'S VINDICATION. 

What have I to say why the sentence of death should not be pronounced 
on me, according to law ? I have nothing to say, that can alter your prede- 
termination, or that it would become me to say with any view to the mitigation 
of that sentence which you are here to pronounce, and which I must abide by. 
But I have that to say which interests me more than life, and which you have 
labored — as was necessarily your office in the present circumstances of this op- 
pressed country — to destroy. I have much to say, why my reputation should 
be secured from the load of false accusation and calumny which has been 
heaped upon it. 

I do not imagine, that, seated where you are, your minds can be so free from 
impurity as to receive the least impression from what I am going to utter. I 
have no hopes that I can anchor my character in the breast of a court, consti- 
tuted and trammeled as this is. I only wish — and it is the utmost I expect — 
that your lordships may suffer it to float down your memories, untainted by the 
foul breath of prejudice, until it finds some more hospitable harbor, to shelter it 
from the storms by which it is at present buffeted. 

Were I only to suffer death, after being adjudged guilty by your tribunal, I 
should bow in silence, and meet the fate that awaits me without a murmur. 
But the sentence of the law which delivers my body to the executioner will, 
through the ministry of the law, labor, in its own vindication, to consign my 
character to obloquy; for there must be guilt somewhere, — whether in the sen- 
tence of the court or in the catastrophe, posterity must determine. A man in 
my situation, my lords, has not only to encounter the difficulties of fortune, and 
the force of power over minds which it has corrupted or subjugated, but the 
difficulties of established prejudice: the man dies, but his memory lives. That 
mine may not perish, that it may live in the respect of my countrymen, I seize 
upon this opportunity to vindicate myself from some of the charges alleged 
against me. 

When my spirit shall have been wafted to a more friendly port, when my 
shade shall have joined those bands of martyred heroes who have shed their 
blood on the scaffold and in the field, in defense of their country and of virtue, 
this is my hope: I wish that my memory and name may animate those who sur- 
vive me, while I look down with complacency on the destruction of that perfid- 
ious government, which upholds its domination by blasphemy of the Most 
High; which displays its power over man as over the beasts of the forest; 
which sets man upon his brother, and lifts his hand, in the name of God, against 
the throat of his fellow who believes or doubts a little more or a little less than 
the government standard, — a government which is steeled to barbarity by the 
cries of orphans, and the tears of widows which it has made. {Here Lord 
Norbury said, ' ' Weak and icicked enthusiasts like you can never accomplish their 
wild designs ") 



92 TWENTY LESSONS IN BEADING, 

I appeal to the immaculate God, to the throne of heaven, before which I 
must shortly appear, to the blood of the murdered patriots, who have gone be- 
fore, that my conduct has been, through all this peril, and through all my pur- 
poses, governed only by the convictions which I have uttered, and by no other 
view than that of the emancipation of my country from the superinhuman op- 
pression under which she has so long and too patiently travailed; and that I 
confidently and assuredly hope, that, wild and chimerical as it may appear, 
there is still union and strength in Ireland to accomplish this noblest enter- 
prise. Of this I speak with the confidence of intimate knowledge, and with the 
consolation that appertains to that confidence. 

Think not, my lords, I say this for the petty gratification of giving you a 
transitory uneasiness; a man who never yet raised his voice to assert a lie. will 
not hazard his character with posterity by asserting a falsehood on a subject so 
important to his country, and on an occasion like this. Yes, my lords, a man 
who does not wish to have his epitaph written until his country is liberated, 
will not leave a weapon in the power of envy, nor a pretense to impeach the 
probity which he means to preserve even in the grave to which tyranny con- 
signs him. Again I say that what I have spoken was not intended for your 
lordships. — whose situation 1 commiserate rather than envy: my expressions 
were for my countrymen: if there is a true Irishman present, let my last words 
cheer him in the hour of his affliction — {Here he icus interrupted by the court.) 

I have always understood it to be the duty of a judge, when a prisoner has 
been convicted, to pronounce the sentence of the law; I have also understood 
the judges sometimes think it their duty to hear with patience, and to speak 
with humanity — to exhort the victim of the laws, and to offer with tender 
benignity their opinions of the motives by which he was actuated in the crime 
of which he had been adjudged guilty. That a judge has thought it his duty 
so to have done, 1 have no doubt; but where is the boasted freedom of your in- 
stitutions, where is the vaunted impartiality, clemency, and mildness of your 
courts of justice, if an unfortunate prisoner, whom your policy and not your 
justice is about to deliver into the hands of the executioner, is not suffered to 
explain his motives sincerely and truly, and to vindicate the principles by which 
he was actuated ? 

My lords, it may be a part of the system of angry justice to bow a man's mind 
by humiliation to the proposed ignominy of the scaffold; but worse to me than 
the proposed shame, or the scaffold's terrors, would be the shame of such foul 
and unfounded imputations as have been laid against me in this court. You, 
my lord, are a judge; I am the accused culprit; 1 am a man: you are a man also. 
By a revolution of power we might change places, though we never could charac- 
ters. If I stand at the bar of this court and dare not vindicate my character, 
how dare you calumniate it? Does the sentence of death, which your unhal- 
lowed policy inflicts on my body, also condemn my tongue to silence, and my 
reputation to reproach ? 

Your executioner may abridge the period of my existence, but while I exist, 
I shall not forbear to vindicate my character and motives from your aspersions; 
and, as a man to whom fame is dearer than life, I will make the last use of that 
life in doing justice to that reputation which is to live after me, and which is 
the only legacy I can leave to those I honor and love, and for whom I am proud 
to perish. As men, my lords, we must appear on the great day at one common 
tribunal: and it will then remain for the Searcher of all hearts to show a col- 
lected universe who was engaged in the most virtuous actions, or actuated by 

the purest motives — by the country's oppressors, or (Here Lord Nor burp 

said, "Idsten, sir, to the sentence of the law." ) 

• # My lords, shall a dying man be denied the legal privilege of exculpating him- 
self in the eyes of the community of an undeserved reproach thrown upon him 
during his trial, by charging him with ambition and attempting to cast away, 
for a paltry consideration, the liberties of his country ? Why did your lordships 
insult me — or, rather, why insult justice — in demanding of me why sentence 
of death should not be pronounced ? 1 know, my lord, that form prescribes that 
you should ask the question; the form also presumes the right of answering. 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 93 

This, no doubt, may be dispensed with, and so might the whole ceremony of 
the trial, since sentence was already pronounced at the castle before your jury 
was empanneled. Your lordships are but the priests of the oracle, and I sub- 
mit: but I insist on the whole of the forms. 



CASSIUS AGAIXST CESAR. 

Hoxoe is the subject of my story. 
I cannot tell what you and other men 
Think of this life; but for my single self, 
I had as lief not be, as live to be 
In awe of such a thing as I myself. 
I was born free as Caesar: so were you; 
We both have fed as well: and we can both 
Endure the winter's cold as well as he. 

For once, upon a raw and gusty day. 

The troubled Tiber, chafing with her shores. 

Caesar said to me — "Darest thou. Cassius. now 

Leap in with me. into this angry flood. 

And swim to yonder point?" Upon the word. 

Accoutered as I was. I plunged in. 

And bade him follow: so. indeed he did. 

The torrent roared, and we did buffet it: 

With lusty sinews, throwing it aside, 

And stemming it, with hearts of controversy. 

But ere we could arrive the point proposed. 

Caesar cried — "Help me, Cassius, or I sink." 

I. as ^Eneas. our great ancestor, 

Did from the flames of Troy, upon his shoulder 

The old Anchises bear. so. from the waves of Tiber 

Did I the tired Caesar; and this man 

Is now become a god; and Cassius is 

A wretched creature, and must bend his body 

If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. 

He had a fever when he was in Spain. 

And when the fit was on him, I did mark 

How he did shake: 't is true, this god did shake; 

His coward lips did from their color fly: 

And that same eye. whose bend doth awe the world, 

Did lose his luster; I did hear him groan: 

Ay. and that tongue of his. that bade the Romans 

Mark him. and write his speeches in their books. 

'Alas !" it cried — "Give me some drink. Titinius." 

As a sick girl. — Ye gods ! it doth amaze me. 

A man of such a feeble temper should 

So get the start of the majestic world, 

And bear the palm alone. 

Why, man. he doth bestride the narrow world. 

Like a Colossus: and we. petty men, 

Walk under his huge legs, and peep about. 

To find ourselves dishonorable graves. 

Men. at some time, are masters of their fates: 

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars. 

But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 

Brutus and Caesar ! What should be in that Caesar? 

Why should that name be sounded more than yours ? 

Write them together: yours is as fair a name: 



94 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

Sound them: it doth become the mouth as well; 
Weigh them: it is as heavy; conjure with them: 
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Csesar. 
Now, in the name of all the gods at once, 
Upon what meat doth this our Csesar feed, 
That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed: 
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods. 
When went there by an age, since the great flood, 
But it was famed with more than with one man ? 
When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome, 
That her wide walls encompassed but one man ? 
Now is it Rome, indeed, and room enough, 
When there is in it but one only man. 
Oh ! you and I have heard our fathers say, 
There was a Brutus once, that would have brooked 
The eternal devil, to keep his state in Rome, 
As easily as a king. 



NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS. 

Not many generations ago, where you now sit, encircled with all that exalts 
and embellishes civilized life, the rank thistle nodded in the wind, and the wild 
fox dug his hole uuscared. Here, lived and loved another race of beings. 
Beneath the same sun that rolls over your head, the Indian hunter pursued the 
panting deer; gazing on the same moon that smiles for you, the Indian lover 
wooed his dusky mate. Here, the wigwam blaze beamed on the tender and 
helpless, and the council fire glared on the wise and daring. Now, they dipped 
their noble limbs in your sedgy lakes, and now, they paddled the light canoe 
along your rocky shores. Here, they warred ; the echoing whoop, the bloody 
grapple, the defying death song, all were here ; and when the tiger strife was 
over, here curled the smoke of peace. 

Here, too, they worshiped : and from many a dark bosom went up a fervent 
prayer to the Great Spirit. He had not written His laws for them on tables of 
stone, but He had traced them on the tables of their hearts. The poor child of 
Nature knew not the God of Revelation, but the God of the Universe he ack- 
nowledged in everything around. He beheld Him in the star that sank in 
beauty behind his lonely dwelling; in the sacred orb that flamed on him from 
his mid-day throne; in the flower that snapped in the morning breeze; in the 
lofty pine that defied a thousand whirlwinds; in the timid warbler that never 
left its native grove ; in the fearless eagle, whose untired pinion was wet in 
clouds; in the worm that crawled at his feet; and in his own matchless form, 
glowing with a spark of that light, to whose mysterious source he bent in hum- 
ble, though blind adoration. 

And all this has passed away. Across the ocean came a Pilgrim bark, bear- 
ing the seeds of life and death. The former were sown for you, the latter 
sprang up in the path of the simple native. Two hundred years have changed 
the character of a great continent, and blotted forever from its face, a whole, 
peculiar people. Art has usurped the bowers of nature, and the anointed chil- 
dren of education have been too powerful for the tribes of the ignorant. Here and 
there, a stricken few remain ; but how unlike their bold, untamable progenitors. 
The Indian of falcon glance and lion bearing, the theme of the touching ballad, 
the hero of the pathetic tale, is gone ! and his degraded offspring crawls upon 
the soil, where he walked in majesty, to remind us how miserable is man when 
the foot of the conqueror is on his neck. 

As a race, they have withered from the land. Their arrows are broken, 
their springs are dried up, their cabins are in the dust. Their council fire has 
long since gone out on the shore, and their war cry is fast fading to the untrod- 
den west. Slowly and sadly they climb the distant mountains, and read their 
doom in the setting sun. They are shrinking before the mighty tide which is 



FOR USB IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 95 

pressing them away; they must soon hear the roar of the last wave, which 
will settle over them forever. Ages hence, the inquisitive white man, as he 
stands by some growing city, will ponder on the structnre of their disturbed re- 
mains, and wonder to what manner of persons they belonged. They will live 
only in the songs and chronicles of their exterminators. Let these be faithful 
to their rude virtues, as men, and pay due tribute to their unhappy fate, as a 
people. 



THE MINISTER'S GRIEVANCES. 

"Brethren," said the aged minister, as he stood up before the church meet- 
ing on New Year's eve, "I am afraid we will have to part. I have labored 
among you now for fifteen years, and I fell that that is almost enough, under 
the peculiar circumstances in which I am placed. Not that I am exactly dissat- 
isfied; but a clergyman who has been preaching to sinners for fifteen years, for 
five hundred dollars a year, naturally feels that he is not doing a great work 
when Deacon Jones, acting as an officer of the church, pays his last quarter's 
salary in a promissory note at six months, and then, acting as an individual, 
offers to discount it for him at ten per cent., if he will take it part out in clover 
seed and pumpkins. 

"I feel somehow as if it would take about eighty-four years of severe preach- 
ing to prepare the deacon for existence in a felicitous hereafter. Let me say, 
also, that while I am deeply grateful to the congregation for the donation party 
they gave me on Christmas, I have calculated that it would be far more profita- 
ble for me to shut my house and take to the woods than endure another one. I 
will not refer to the impulsive generosity which persuaded Sister Potter to come 
with a present of eight clothes pins; I will not insinuate anything against 
Brother Ferguson, who brought with him a quarter of a peck of dried apples 
of the crop of 1872; I shall not allude to the benevolence of Sister Tynhirst, 
who came with a pen wiper and a tin horse for the baby; I shall refrain from 
commenting upon the impression made by Brother Hill, who brought four 
phosphorescent mackerel, possibly with an idea that they might be useful in 
dissipating the gloom in my cellar. I omit reference to Deacon Jones' present 
of an elbow of stovepipe and a bundle of toothpicks, and I admit that when 
Sister Peabody brought me sweetened sausage meat, and salted and peppered 
mince meat for pies, she did right in not forcing her own family to suffer from 
her mistake in mixing the material. But I do think I may fairly remark, re- 
specting the case of Sister Walsingham, that after careful thought I am unable 
to perceive how she considered that a present of a box of hair pins to my wife 
justified her in consuming half of a pumpkin pie, six buttered muffins, two 
platefuls of oysters, and a large variety of miscellaneous food, previous to jam- 
ming herself full of preserves, and proceeding to the parlor to join in singing 
' There is Rest for the Weary ! ' Such a destruction of the necessaries of life 
doubtless contributes admirably to the stimulation of commerce, but it is far too 
large a commercial operation to rest solely upon the basis of a ten-cent box of 
hair pins. 

"As for matters in the church, I do not care to discuss them at length. I 
might say much about the manner in which the congregation were asked to con- 
tribute clothing to our mission in Senegambia; we received nothing but four 
neckties and a brass breastpin, excepting a second-hand carriage whip that 
Deacon Jones gave us. I might allude to the frivolous manner in which 
Brother Atkinson, our tenor, converses with Sister Priestly, our soprano, during 
my sermons, and last Sunday kissed her when he thought I was not looking; I 
might allude to the absent-mindedness which has permitted Brother Brown 
twice lately to put half a dollar on the collection plate and take off two quarters 
and a ten-cent piece in change; and I might dwell upon the circumstance that 
while Brother Toombs, the undertaker, sings 'I would not Live Alway,' with 
professional enthusiasm that is pardonable, I do not see why he should throw 
such unction into the hymn, 'I am Unworthy though I Give my All,' when he 



96 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

is in arrears for two years' pew rent, and is always busy examining the carpet 
pattern when the plate goes round. I also — " 

But here Butler Toombs turned off the gas suddenly, and the meeting ad- 
journed, full of indignation at the good pastor. His resignation was accepted 
unanimously. 



IN THE CATACOMBS. 

Never lived a Yankee yet 

But was ready to bet 

On the U. S. A. 

If you speak of Italy's sunny clime. 

Maine kin beat it, every time !" 

If you tell of ^Etna's fount of fire, 

You rouse his ire. 

In an injured way 

He '11 probably say, 

I do n't think much of a smokin' hill. 

We've got a moderate little rill 

Kin make yer old volcaner still; 

Pour ould Niagery down the crater. 

'N' I guess 'twill cool her fiery nater." 

You have doubtless heard of those ancient lies, 

Manufactured for a prize: 

The reputation of each rose higher 

As he proved himself the bigger liar. 

Said an Englishman: "Only t'other day, 
Sailing from Dover to Calais. 
1 saw a man without float or oar. 
Swimming across from the English shore, 
Manfully breasting the angry sea — " 
Friend." said the Yankee, "that was me/" 

Mindful of all these thrice-told tales, 
Whenever a Yankee to Europe sails, 
The boys try every sort of plan 
To rouse his astonishment, if they can. 

Sam Brown was a fellow from "way down East," 

Who never was "staggered'' in the least. 

No tale of marvelous beast or bird 

Could match the stories he had heard. 

No curious place or wondrous view 

Was ekill to Podunk, I tell yu." 

They showed him a room where a queen had slept; 

'Twa'n't up to the tavern daddy kept." 

They showed him Lucerne. But he had drunk 

From the beautiful Mollichunkamunk. 

They took him at last to ancient Rome, 

And inveigled him into a catacomb. 

Here they plied him with draughts of wine 
(Though he vowed old cider was. twice as line,) 
Till the fumes of Falernian filled his head, 
And he slept as sound as the silent dead: 
They removed a mummy to make him room. 
And laid him at length in the rocky tomb 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 97 

They piled old skeletons round the stone, 

Set a "dip" in a candlestick of bone. 

And left him to slumber there alone. 

Then watched from a distance the taper's gleam, 

Waiting to jeer at his frightened scream 

When he should awake from his drunken dream. 

After a time the Yankee woke, 
But instantly saw through the flimsy joke; 
So never a cry or shout he uttered, 
But solemnly rose and slowly muttered: 
"I see how it is. It's the judgment day, 
We 've all been dead and stowed away; 
All these stone furreners sleepin' yet, 
An' I 'm the fust one up, you bet ! 
Can 't none o' you Romans start ? Say, come ! — 
United States is ahead, I vum ! " 



SOCRATES SXOOKS. 

Mister Socrates Snooks, a lord of creation, 
The second time entered the married relation: 
Xantippe Caloric accepted his hand, 
And they thought him the happiest man in the land. 
But scarce had the honeymoon passed o'er his head. 
When, one morning, to Xantippe, Socrates said, 
* ' I think, for a man of my standing in life, 
This house is too small, as I now have a wife: 
So, as early as possible, carpenter Carey 
Shall be sent for to widen my house and my dairy." 

"Now, Socrates, dearest," Xantippe replied, 

"I hate to hear everything vulgarly my'd; 
Now, whenever you speak of your chattels again, 
Say, our cow house, our barn yard, our pig pen." 

"By your leave, Mrs. Snooks, I will say what I please 
Of my houses, my lands, my gardens, my trees." 

"Say our," Xantippe exclaimed in a rage. 

"I won't, Mrs. Snooks, though you ask it an age !" 

Oh. woman ! though only a part of man's rib, 
If the story in Genesis do n't tell a fib, 
Should your naughty companion e'er quarrel with you, 
« You are certain to prove the best man of the two. 
In the following case this was certainly true; 
For the lovely Xantippe just pulled off her shoe, 
And laying about her, all sides at random, 
The adage was verified — "Nil desperandum." 

Mister Socrates Snooks, after trying in vain 
To ward off the blows which descended like rain — 
Concluding that valor's best part was discretion — 
Crept under the bed like a terrified Hessian: 
But the dauntless Xantippe, not one whit afraid, 
Converted the siege into a blockade. 

At last, after reasoning the thing in his pate, 

He concluded 'twas useless to strive against fate; 

And so, like a tortoise protruding his head. 

Said, "My dear, may we come out from under our bed ? 



98 TWENTY LESSORS IN BEADING, 

"Hah ! hah !" she exclaimed, "Mr. Socrates Snooks, 
I perceive you agree to my terms, by your looks: 
Now, Socrates, — hear me, — from this happy hour, 
If you'll only obey me, I'll never look sour." 
'T is said the next Sabbath, ere going to church, 
He chanced for a clean pair of trowsers to search: 
Having found them, he asked, with a few nervous twitches, 

"My dear, may we put on our new Sunday breeches?" 



THE BALD-HEADED MAN. 

The other day a lady, accompanied by her son, a very small boy, boarded a 
train at Little Rock. The woman had a careworn expression hanging over her 
face like a tattered veil, and many of the rapid questions asked by the boy were 
answered by unconscious sighs. 

"Ma," said the boy, "that man's like a baby, ain't he?" pointing to a bald- 
headed man sitting just in front of them. 

"Hush!" 

••Why must I hush?" 

After a few moments' silence, "Ma, what 's the matter with that man's head ? " 

" Hush, I tell you. He 's bald." 

"What's bald?" 

"His head hasn't got any hair on it." 

"Did it come off?" 

"I guess so." 

"Will mine come off?" 

"Sometime, maybe." 

"Then I'll be bald, won't I ?" 

"Yes." 

"Will you care?" 

"Don't ask so many questions." 

After another silence, the boy exclaimed, "Ma, look at that fly on that man's 
head." 

"If you don't hush, 1 '11 whip you when we get home." 

"Look! There's another fly. Look at 'em fight, look at 'em !" 

"Madam," said the man. putting aside a newspaper and looking around, 
"what's the matter with that young hyena?" 

The woman blushed, stammered out something, and attempted to smooth back 
the boy's hair. 

"One fly, two Hies, three flies." said the boy innocently, following with his 
eyes a basket of oranges carried by a newsboy. 

'"Here, you young hedgehog," said the bald-headed man, "if you don't hush 
I'll have the conductor put you off the train." 

The poor woman, not knowing what else to do, boxed the boy's ears, and 
then gave him an orange to keep him from crying. 

"Ma, have I got red marks on my head?" 

"I'll whip you again, if you don't hush." 

"Mister," said the boy, after a short silence, "does it hurt to be bald headed?" 

"Youngster." said the man, "if you'll keep quiet, I'll give you a quarter." 

The boy promised, and the money was paid over. 

The man took up his paper, and resumed his reading. 

"This is my bald-headed money," said the boy. "When I get bald headed, 
I'm goin' to give boys money. Mister, have all bald-headed men got money?" 

The annoyed man threw down his paper, arose, and exclaimed, "Madam, 
hereafter, when you travel, leave that young gorilla at home. Hitherto, I always 
thought that the prophet was very cruel for calling the bears to kill the children 
for making sport of his head, but now I am forced to believe that he did a Chris- 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 99 

tian act. If your boy had been in the crowd, he would have died first. If 1 
can't find another seat on this train, I'll ride on the cowcatcher rather than re- 
main here." 

••The bald-headed man is gone,"' said the boy; and, as the woman leaned 
back, a tired sigh escaped from her lips. 



THE NEW CHURCH ORGAN. 

They 've got a bran' new organ, Sue, 

For all their fuss and search; 
They've done just as they said they'd do, 

And fetched it in to church. 
They 're bound the critter shall be seen, 

And on the preacher's right, 
They've hoisted up the new machine 

In everybody's sight. 
They 've got a chorister and choir, 

Agin' my voice and vote; 
For it was never my desire 

To praise the Lord by note ! 

I 've been a sister, good and true, 

For five an' thirty year; 
I 've done what seemed my part to do, 

And prayed my duty clear; 
I 've sung my hymns both slow and quick, 

Just as the preacher read; 
And twice, when Deacon Tubbs was sick, 

I took the fork an' led ! 
And now, their bold, new tangled ways 

Is comin' all about; 
And I, right in my latter days, 

Am fairly crowded out. 

To-day the preacher, good old dear, 

With tears all in his eyes, 
Read — "I can read my title clear 

To mansions in the skies." 
I always liked that blessed hymn, 

I s'pose I always will; 
It somehow gratifies my whim, 

In good old "Ortonville." 
But when that choir got up to sing, 

I couldn't catch a word; 
They sung the most dog-gondest thing 

A body ever heard ! 

Some worldly chaps were standing near, 

An' when I seed them grin, 
I bid farewell to every fear 

And boldly waded in. 
I thought I 'd chase their tune along, 

And tried with all my might; 
But though my voice is good and strong, 

I couldn't steer it right; 
When they was high then I was low, 

And also contra'wise; 
And I too fast or they too slow, 

To "Mansions in the Skies." 



100 TWENTY LESSONS IN BEADING, 

And after every verse, you know, 

They played a little time ; 
I didn't understand, and so 

I started in too soon. 
I pitched it pretty niiddlin' high, 

I fetched a lusty tone, 
But oh, alas ! I found that 1 

Was singin ' there alone ! 
They laughed a little, I am told, 

But I had done my best; 
And not a wave of trouble rolled 

Across my peaceful breast. 

And Sister Brown — I could but look — 

She sits right front of me; 
She never was no singin' book, 

An' never meant to be; 
But then she always tried to do 

The best she could, she said; 
She understood the time right through, 

And kept it with her head; 
But when she tried this morning, oh ! 

I had to laugh or cough, 
It kept her head a bobbin' so, 

It e'en a'most came off ! 

Aud Deacon Tubbs — he all broke down, 

As one might well suppose — 
He took one look at Sister Brown, 

And meekly scratched his nose. 
He looked his hymn book through and through, 

Aud laid it on the seat; 
And then a pensive sigh he drew, 

And looked completely beat. 
And when they took another bout, 

He didn't even rise; 
But drawed his red bandanner out, 

And wiped his weeping eyes. 

I 've been a sister, good and true, 

For five an' thirty year; 
I 've done what seemed my part to do, 

And prayed my duty clear; 
But Death will stop my voice, I know, 

For he is on my track; 
And some day I to church will go, 

And never more come back, 
And when the folks get up to sing — 

AVhene'er that time shall be — 
1 do not want a patent thing 

A squealin' over me ! 



THE FLOOD AND THE ARK. 

Ix the autumn of 1830, I attended a Methodist camp meeting in the interior 
of Georgia, and heard a sermon which I have never been able to forget or de- 
scribe. 

The speaker had just been licensed, and it was his first sermon. In person 
he was small, bullet headed, of a fair, sandy complexion ; and his countenance 
was indicative of sincerity and honesty. He was taking up the Bible in regular 
order for the first time in his life, and had gotten as far as the history of Noah, 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 101 

the ark, the flood, etc. Besides, just before his conversion, he had been read- 
ing Goldsmith's "Animated Nater," and the two together, by the aid and assist- 
ance of the Sperit, had led him into a powerful train of thinking as he stood at 
his work bench, day in and day out. The text was : "As it was in the days of 
Noah, so shall the coming of the Son of Man be ; " and he broke out into the 
following strain : 

" Yes, my bretherin, the heavens of the windows opened-ah, and the floods 
of the g-r-e-a-t deep kivered the waters-ah ; and there was Shein, and there was 
Ham, and there was Japhet-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. 

••And there was the elephant-ah, that g-r-e-a-t animal-ah of which Gold- 
smith describes in his 'Animated Nater'-ah, which is as big as a house-ah, and 
his bones as big as a tree-ah, depending somewhat upon the size of the tree-ah. 
a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. And the heavens of the windows was opened-ah, 
and the floods of the g-r-e-a-t deep kivered the waters-ah ; and there was Shem, 
and there was Ham, and there was Japhet-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. 

"And there was the hippopotamus-ah, that g-r-e-a-t animal-ah, of which 
Goldsmith describes in his 'Animated Nater'-ah, which has a g-r-e-a-t horn 
a-stickin' right straight up out of his forward-ah, six feet long, more or less-ah, 
depending somewhat on the length of it-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. 

"And there was the giraffe-ah, my bretherin, that ill-contrived reptile of 
which Goldsmith describes in his 'Animated Nater'-ah, whose fore legs is 
twenty-five feet long-ah, more or less-ah, depending somewhat on the length of 
'em-ah, and a neck so long he can eat hay off the top of a barn-ah, depending 
somewhat on the hithe of the barn-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. And the 
heavens of the windows were open,ed-ah, and the floods of the great deep kiv- 
ered the waters-ah ; and there was Ham, and there was Shem, and there was 
Japhet-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. 

"And there was the zebra, my bretherin-ah, that b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-1 animal of 
which Goldsmith describes in his 'Animated Nater'-ah, what has three hundred 
stripes a-rimnin' right straight around his body-ah, more or less, depending 
somewhat on the number of stripes-ah, and nary two stripes alike-ah, a-1-1 
a-gwine into the ark-ah. 

"And there was the anaconder-ah, that g-r-e-a-t sarpint of which Goldsmith 
describes in his 'Animated Nater '-ah, what can swallow six oxen at a meal-ah. 
provided his appetite don't call for less-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. And 
the heavens of the windows was opened-ah, and the floods of the great deep 
kivered the waters-ah ; and there was Shem, and there was Ham, and there was 
Japhet-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. 

"And there was the lion, bretherin-ah, what is the king of beasts, accordin' 
to Scripter-ah, and who, as St. Paul Says-ah, prowls around of a night like a 
roarin devil-ah, a-seekin' if he can 't catch somebody-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the 
ark-ah. 

"And there was the antelope-ah, my bretherin, that frisky little critter-ah 
of which Goldsmith describes in his 'Animated Nater'-ah, what can jump sev- 
enty-five foot straight up-ah, and twice that distance down-ah, provided his legs 
will take him that far-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. And the heavens of 
the windows was opened-ah, and the floods of the great deep kivered the wa- 
ters-ah ; and there was Shem, and there was Ham, and there was Japhet-ah, 
a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. 

"But time would fail me, my bretherin, to describe all the animals that went, 
into the ark-ah. Your patience and my strength would give out before I got 
half through-ah. We talk, my bretherin, about the faith of Abraham and the 
patience of Job-ah ; but it strikes me they did n't go much ahead of old Noer-ah. 
It tuck a right smart chance o' both to gather up all that gopher wood and pitch 
and other truck for to build that craft-ah. 1 am a sort of carpenter myself, and 
have some idea of the job-ah. But to hammer and saw and maul and split 
away o'n any one thing a hundred and twenty year-ah, an' lookin' an lookin' for 
his pay in another world-ah — I tell ye, my bretherin, if the Lord had a-sot Job 
at that, it's my opinion he would a-took his wife's advice inside of fifty year-ah. 
Besides, no doubt his righteous soul was vexed every d*ay, hand runnin'-ah, with 



102 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

the filthy communications of the blasphemous set that was always a-loferin' and 
a-saunterin' round-ah, a-pickin' up his tools and a-misplacm' 'em, and a-callin' 
him an old fool or somethin worse-ah. Aud, to cap the climax, he was a 
preacher, and had that ougodly gineration on his hands every Sunday-ah. But 
the Lord stood by him, and seed him through the job-ah ; and, when everything 
was ready, he did n't send Noer out to scrimmage and scour and hunt all over 
the wide world for to git up the critters and varmints that he wanted saved-ah. 
They all came to his hand of their own accord-ah, and Noer only had to head 
'em in and fix 'em around in their places-ah. Then he gathered up his own fam- 
ily, and the Lord shut him in, and the heavens of the windows was opened-ah. 
"My bretherin.-as.it was in the days of Noer-ah, so shall the coming of the 
Son of Man be-ah. The world will never be drowned agin-ah. It will be sot 
a-fire, and burnt up, root and branch, with a fervient heat-ah. Oh ! what will 
wretched, ondone sinners do on that orful day-ah ? They will be put to their 
wits' end-ah, and knock and straddle around in every direction-ah: for all at 
onct, my bretherin-ah. they will behold the heavens a-darkenin'-ah, and the 
seas a-roarin'-ah, the tombs a-bustin'-ah. the mountains a-meltin'-ah; and every- 
thing, I think, will be in a confused and onsettled state-ah." 



AGNES I LOVE THEE. 

I stood upon the ocean's briny shore, 

And with a fragile reed I traced upon the sand: 
"Agues, I love thee." 

The mad waves rolled by and blotted out the fair impression. 

Frail reed! Cruel wave ! Treacherous sand ! 

I '11 trust ye no more ! 

But with a giant hand, 

I'll pluck from Norway's frozen shore her tallest pine 

And dip its top into the crater of Mt. Vesuvius. 

And on the high and burnished heavens I'll write: 
"Agnes. 1 love thee." 

And I would like to see any doggoned wave wash that out. 



FIRST ADVENTURES IN ENGLAND. 

Ykk spakin' of musther was a-moindin me of Mick Murphy and Dan Col- 
lins, two frinds of moine, who came over to England for the rapin' 6f the har- 
\ 1st, and was walkin' on the quays of this town. And nioind ye now, nather 
Micky nor Danny had iver been out of the corragus of the town of Tipperary 
in all their born days. They were goin' along the strate, whin Danny sees "Ris- 
ioranf'writ up over a shop: " See now," says he. "that's a place to ate; " aud in 
they both goes, and thin. sir. they sees a waither with a towel over his arm, and 
says Danny, says lie: "What kin we get to ate?" "Anything at all," says the 
waither: "Thin bring me a plate of mate," says Danny; so in comes the waither 
with a plate of mate and a large bowl of musther. "What's to pay for the 
mate?" says Danny. "A shillin'. sir," says the waither. "And what's that?' 
says he. a-pointin' to the bowl. "That's musther," says the waither. "And 
what do yez do with it?" "Why, yez ates it with the mate, to be sure,'' says 
he. "And what's to pay for it?" "Nothin' at all." says the waither. Thin 
Danny looked at Micky, and Micky looked at Danny, and they both winked. 
Afther awhile the waither turned his back, and says Danny, says he. "Micky." 
says he. "we'll pocket the mate for the journey and ate the stuff they gives us 
for nothin'." And with that Micky rolls up the mate in his handkercher and 
puts it in the crown of his hat. All this toime Danny kept stirrin' up the mus- 
ther, and afther awhile he opens his mouth and takes a great dollop of it; down 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 103 

goes his head, and the tears come rimnin' down out of his eyes. Micky looked 
up and says he, ' ' Danny," says he, ' ' what does be the matther with ye ? " Danny 
wouldn't let on at all, at all, but says he, "Whiniver I think of the death of 
of my poor great-grandfather, that was kilt at the battle of Boyue, 1 can't kape 
from cryin' at all, at all." "Och, do n't take on with ye like that," says Micky; 
"see now, we are over in England, and we'll make a power of money at the 
rapin' before harvist is over." All this toime Danny kept stirrin up the musther, 
and afther awhile he hands the spoon to Micky. Micky takes a spoonful, too; 
down goes his head, and the tears come runnin' down out of his eyes. Danny 
looks up, and says he, "Micky," says he, what does be the matther with ye? " 
"Faix,"says Micky, "I war thinkin' what a great pity it war that ye war n't 
kilt along with yer great-grandfather at the battle of Boyne." 



THE IRISHMAN'S PANORAMA. 

Ladies axd Gintlemin: In the foreground over there ye '11 obsarve Vine- 
gar Hill, an' should yer be goin' by that way some day, yer moight be fatigued, 
an' if yer are yer '11 foind at the fut of the hill a nate little cot kept by a man 
named McCarty, who, by the way, is as foine a lad as you '11 mate in a day's 
march. I see by the hasp on the door that McCarty is out, or I 'd take yes in 
an' introduce yes. A foine, ginerous, noble feller is this McCarty. Shure an' 
if he had but the wan peratie he 'd give yes the half of that, and phat 's more, 
he 'd thank ye for takin' it. ( James, move the crank ! Larry, music on the 
bagpipes ! ) 

Ladies and Gintlemin: We've now arrived at a beautiful shpot, situated about 
twenty miles this side o' Limerick. To the left over there yer '11 see a hut, by 
the side of which is sated a lady aud gintleman: well, as I was goin' that way 
one day, I heard the followin' conversation betwixt him an' her. Says she to 
him: "James, it's a shame for yer to be tratin' me so; d'yemoind the time yer 
used to come to me father's castle a-beggin'?" "Yer father's castle — me? 
Well, thin ! ye could shtand on the outside of yer father's castle, an' stick yer 
arm down the chimney an' pick praties out of the pot, an' niver a partition be- 
twixt you and the pigs but sthraw." (Move the crank, etc.) 
• Ladies and Gintlemin: We have now arrived at the beautiful an' classical 
lakes of Killarney. There 's a curious legend connected wid these lakes that I 
must relate to you. It is, that every evenin' at four o'clock in the afternoon, a 
beautiful swan is seen to make its appearance, an' while inovin' transcenden- 
tally an' glidelessly along, ducks its head, skips under the water, an' you '11 not 
see him till the next afternoon. (Turn the crank, etc.) 

Ladies and Gintlemin: We have how arrived at another beautiful spot, situa- 
ted about thirteen and a half miles this side of Cork. This is a grate place, 
noted for spoilsman. Wanst, while shtoppin' over there at the Hotel de Finney, 
the following tilt of a conversation occurred betwixt Mr. Muldooney, the waiter, 
and mesilf. I says to him, says I, "Mully, old boy, will you have the kindness 
to fetch me the mustard ? " and he was a long time bringin' it, so I opportuned 
him for kapin' me. An' says he to me, says he, "Mr. McCune" (that's me), 
" I notice that you take a grate deal of mustard wid your mate." "I do," says 
I. Says he, "I notice you take a blame sight of mate wid your mustard." 
(Move the crank ! Larry, "Finnigan's Wake.") 

Ladies and Gintlemin: We now skip acrost the broacl Atlantic to a wonderful 
shpot in America, situated a few miles from Chinchinnatti, called the Falls of 
Niagara. While lingerin' here wan day, I saw a young couple, evidently very 
swate on aich other. Av coorse I tuk no notice of phat they were sayin', but I 
could n't help listenin' to the followin' extraordinary conversation. Says he to 
her: "Isn't it wonderful to see that tremindous amount of water comin' down 
over that terrible precipice." "Yis, darlint," says she, "but wouldn't it be far 
more wonderful to see the same tremindous body of water a-goin' up that same 
precipice?" (Music on the pipes.) 



104: TWENTY LESSONS IN BEADING, 



REFLECTIONS ON THE NEEDLE. 

So that 's Cleopathra's Needle, bedad, 
An' a square lookin' needle it is, I '11 be bound ; 

What a powerful muscle the queen must have had 
That could grasp such a weapon an' wind it around I 

Imagine her sittin' there stitchin' like mad 
Wid a needle like that in her hand ! I declare 

It 's as big as the Round Tower of Slane, an', bedad, 
It would pass for a round tower, only it 's square ! 

The taste of her, ordhering a needle of granite ! 

Begorra, the sight of it sthrikes me quite dumb ! 
An' look at the quare sort of figures upon it ; 

I wondher can these be the tracks of her thumb ? 

I once was astonished to hear of the faste 

Cleopathera made upon pearls ; but now 
I declare, I would not be surprised in the laste 

If ye told me the woman had swallowed a cow ! 

It 's aisy to see why bold Cresar should quail 
In her presence, an' meekly submit to her rule ; 

Wid a weapon like that in her fist, I '11 go bail, 

She could frighten the sowl out of big Finn MacCool ! 

But, Lord, what poor pigmies the women are now, 

Compared with the monsthers they must have been then I 

Whin the darlin's in those days would kick up a row, 
Holy smoke, but it must have been hot for the men ! 

Just think how a chap that goes courtin' would start 
If his girl was to prod him with that in the shins ! 

I have often seen needles, but boldly assart 

That the needle in front of me there takes the pins ! 

O, sweet Cleopathra ! I am sorry you 're dead ; 

An' whin lavin" this wontherful needle behind 
Had ye thought of bequathin' a spool of your thread 

An' yer thimble an' scissors, it would have been kind. 

But pace to your ashes, ye plague of great men, 
Yer strength is departed, yer glory is past ; 

Ye '11 never wield scepter or needle again, 
An' a poor little asp did yer bizzness at last! 



UNCLE DAN'L'S APPARITION AND PRAYER. 

Whatever the lagging, dragging journey from Tennessee to Missouri may 
have been to the rest of the emigrants, it was a wonder and delight to the chil- 
dren, a world of enchantment; and they believed it to be peopled with the mys- 
terious dwarfs and giants and goblins that figured in the tales the negro slaves 
were in the habit of telling them nightly by the shuddering light of the kitchen 
fire. 

At the end of nearly a week of travel, the party went into camp near a shabby 
village which was caving, house by house, into the hungry Mississippi. The 
river astonished the children beyond measure. Its mile-breadth of water seemed 
an ocean to them, in the shadowy twilight, and the vague riband of trees on the 
farther shore, the verge of a continent which surely none but they had ever seen 
before. 



FOR USE IN XOBMAL IXSTITUTES. 105 

"Uncle Dan'l" (colored), aged forty: his wife. ''Aunt Jinny." aged thirty: 
•■Young Miss" Emily Hawkins. ••Young Mars" Washington Hawkins, and 
••Young Mars" Clay, the new member of the family, ranged themselves on a 
log, after supper, and contemplated the marvelous river and discussed it. The 
moon rose and sailed aloft through a maze of shredded cloud wreaths: the 
somber river just perceptibly brightened under the veiled light: a deep silence 
pervaded the air. and was emphasized, at intervals, rather than broken, by the 
hooting of an owl, the baying of a dog, or the muffled crash of a caving bank in 
the distance. 

The little company assembled on the log were all children | at least in sim- 
plicity and broad and comprehensive ignorance), and the remarks they made 
about the river were in keeping with their character: and so awed were they by 
the grandeur and the solemnity of the scene before them, and by their belief 
that the air was filled with invisible spirits, aud that the faint zephyrs were 
caused by their passing wings, that all their talk took to itself a tinge of the 
supernatural, and their voices were subdued to a low and reverent tone. Sud- 
denly Uncle Dan'l exclaimed: 

'•Chil'en. dah*s sumfin a comin" !" 

All crowded close together, and every heart beat faster. Uncle Dan'l pointed 
down the river with his bony finger. 

A deep, coughing sound troubled the stillness, away toward a wooded cape 
that jutted into the stream a mile distant. All in an instant a fierce eye of fire 
shot out from behind the cape and sent a long, brilliant pathway quivering 
athwart the dusky water. The coughing grew louder and louder, the glaring 
eye grew larger and still larger, glared wilder and still wilder. A huge shape 
developed itself out of the gloom, and from its tall, duplicate horns dense vol- 
umes of smoke, starred and spangled with sparks, poured out and went tumbling 
away into the farther darkness. Xearer and nearer the thing came, till its long 
sides began to glow with spots of light which mirrored themselves in the river 
and attended the monster like a torchlight procession. 

• • What is it ? Oh ! what is it. Uncle Dan'l ? " 

With deep solemnity the answer came: 

"It 's de Almighty ! Git down on yo' knees ! " 

It was not necessary to say it twice. They were all kneeling in a moment. 
And then, while the mysterious coughing rose stronger and stronger, and the 
threatening glare reached farther and wider, the negro's voice lifted up its sup- 
plications: 

"O Lord, we's ben mighty wicked, an' we knows dat we 'zerve to go to de 
bad place; but good Lord, deah Lord, we ain't ready yit. we ain't ready — let 
dese po* chiFen hab one mo' chance, jes' one mo" chance. Take de ole niggah, 
if you's got to hab somebody. Good Lord, good deah Lord, we don't know 
whah you's a gwine to. we don't know who you's got yo' eye on, but we knows 
by de way you's a comin', we knows by de way you's a tiltin' along in yo' 
charyot o' fiah, dat some po' sinner "s a gwine to ketch it. But good Lord, dese 
chil'en don't b'long heah, dey's f 'in Obedstown, whah dey don't know nuffin', 
an' you knows yo* own sef. dat dey ain't 'sponsible. An' deah Lord, good Lord. 
it ain't like yo' mercy, it ain't like yo' pity, it ain't like yo' long-suffer in", lovin' 
kindness, for to take dis kind o' 'vantage o' sich little chil'en as dese is when 
dey's so many grown folks chuck full o' fitissedness dat wants roastin' down 
dah. O Lord, spah de little chil'en: don't tar de little chil'en away f'm dey 
frens; jes' let 'em off jes* dis once, an' take it out *n de ole niggah. Heah I is, 
Lobd. heah I is ! De ole niggah 's ready. Lord, de ole — " 

The flaming and churning steamer was right abreast the party, and not 
twenty steps away. The awful thunder of a mud-valve suddenly burst forth, 
drowning the prayer, and as suddenly Uncle Dan'l snatched a child under each 
arm and scoured into the woods, with the rest of the pack at his heels. Aud 
then, ashamed of himself, he halted in the deep darkness and shouted (but 
rather feebly): 

••Heah I is, Lord, heah I is ! " 

There was a moment of throbbing suspense, and then, to the surprise and 



106 TWENTY LESSONS IN BEADING, 

comfort of the party, it was plain that the august presence had gone by, for its 
dreadful noises were receding. Uncle Dan'l headed a cautious reconnoissance 
in the direction of the log. Sure enough, "The Lord" was just turning a point 
a short distance up the river, and while they looked, the lights winked out and 
the coughing diminished by degrees, and presently ceased altogether. 

"H'wsh! Well, now, dey's some folks says dey ain't no 'ficiency in prah. 
Dis chile would like to know whah we 'd a ben now if it war n't fo' dat prah ? 
Dat'sit. Dat 'sit!" 

' ' Uncle Dan'l*, do you reckon it was the prayer that saved us ? " said Clay. 

"Does I reckon ? Don't I know it ! Whah was yo' eyes ? Warn't the Lord 
jes' a comin' chow! clww ! chow! an' a goin' on tumble — an' do do Lord carry 
on dat way 'dout dey 's sumfin do n't suit him ? An' warn't he a lookin' right 
at dis gang heah, an' warn't he jes' a reachin' for 'em ? An' d' you spec' he 
gwine to let 'em off 'clout somebody ast him to do it ? No indeedy ! " 

"Do you reckon he saw us, Uncle Dan'l ?" 

"De law sakes, chile, didn't I see him a lookin' at us?" 

"Did you feel scared, Uncle Dan'l?" 

"No sah ! When a man is 'gaged in prah, he ain't 'fraid o' nuffin — dey can't 
nuffin tech him." 

"Well, what did you run for?" 

"Well, I — I — Mars Clay, when a man is under de influence ob de sperit, 
he dunno what he's 'bout — no sah; dat man clunno what he's 'bout. You 
mout take an' tah de head off'n dat man an' he wouldn't scasely fine it out. 
Dah's de Hebrew chil'en dat went trough de fiah; dey was burnt considable — 
ob coase dey was; but dey didn't know nuffin 'bout it — heal right up agin ; if 
dey 'd bin gals dey 'd missed dey long haah, maybe, but dey would n't felt de 
burn." 

"I do n't know but what they were girls. I think they were." 

"Now, Mars Clay, you knows better 'n dat. Sometimes a body can't tell 
wheclcler you 's a sayin' what you means or whedder you 's a sayin what you 
don't mean, 'case you says 'em bote de same way." 

"But how should /know whether they were boys or girls?" 

"Goodness sakes, Mars Clay, don't de good book say? 'Sides, don't it call 
'em iZe-brew chil'en ? If dey was gals would n't dey be she-brew chil'en ? 
Some people dat kin read don't 'pear to take no notice when dey do read." 

"Well, Uncle Dan'l, I think that — My! here comes another one up the 
river ! There can 't be two ! " 

"We gone dis time — we done gone dis time, sho' ! Dey ain't two, Mars 
Clay — dat 's de same one. De Lord kin 'pear eberywhah in a second. Good- 
ness, how de fiah an' de smoke do belch up ! Dat mean business, honey. He 
comin' now like he fo'got sumfin. Come 'long, chil'en, time you's gwine to 
roos'. Go 'long wid you — ole Uncle Dan'l gwine out in de woods to rastle in 
prah — de ole niggah gwine to do what he kin to sabe you agin." 

He did go to the woods and pray ; but he went so far that he doubted, him- 
self, if the Lord heard him when he went by. 



ON THE SHORES OF TENNESSEE. 

'Move my arm chair, faithful Pompey, 

In the sunshine bright and strong, 
For this world is fading, Pompey — 

Massa won't be with you long; 
And I fain would hear the south wind 

Bring once more the sound to me 
Of the wavelets softly breaking 

On the shores of Tennessee. 



FOR USE IX NORMAL INSTITUTES. 10' 

"Mournful though the ripples murmur. 

As they still the story tell. 
How no vessels float the banner 

That I 've loved so long and well, 
I shall listen to their music. 

Dreaming that again I see 
Stars and stripes on sloop and shallop. 

Sailing up the Tennessee. 

••And. Pompey. while old massa's waiting 

For death's last dispatch to come. 
If that exiled, starry banner 

Should come proudly sailing home. 
You shall greet it. slave no longer — 

Voice and hand shall both be free 
That shouts and points to Union colors. 

On the waves of Tennessee."' 

" Massa's berry kind to Pompey: 

But old darky's happy here. 
Where he 's tended corn and cotton 

For 'ese many a long gone year. 
Over yonder missis's sleeping — 

Xo one tends her grave like me: 
Mebbe she would miss the flowers 

She used to love in Tennessee. 

* 'Pears like she was watching massa: 

If Pompey should beside him stay. 
Mebbe she 'd remember better 

How for him she used to pray: 
Telling him that way up yonder 

White as snow his soul would be. 
If he served the Lord of heaven 

While he lived in Tennessee." 

Silently the tears were rolling 

Down the poor. old. dusky face. 
As he stepped behind his master, 

In his long-accustomed place. 
Then a silence fell around them. 

As they gazed on rock and tree 
Pictured in the placid waters 

Of the rolling Tennessee: — 

Master, dreaming of the battle 

Where he fought by Marion's side. 
When he bid the haughty Tarleton 

Stoop his lordly crest of pride: 
Man. remembering how yon sleeper 

Once he held upon his knee. 
Ere she loved the gallant soldier. 

Pialph Yervair. of Tennessee. 

Still the south wind fondly lingers 

'Mid the veteran's silvery hair: 
Still the bondman, close beside him. 

Stands behind the old arm chair. 
With his dark-hued hand uplifted. 

Shading eyes, he bends to see 
Where the woodland, boldly jutting. 

Turns aside the Tennessee. 



108 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

Thus he watches cloud-born shadows 
Glide from tree to mountain crest, 
Softly creeping, aye and ever, 

To the river's yielding breast. 
Ha ! above the foliage yonder 
• Something flutters wild and free ! 

" Massa ! Massa ! Hallelujah ! 

The flag 's come back to Tennessee ! " 

"Poinpey, hold me on your shoulder, 
Help me stand on foot once more, 
That I may salute the colors 

As they pass my cabin door. 
Here 's the paper signed that frees you; 

Give a freeman's shout with me — 
' God and Union ! ' be our watchword 
Ever more in Tennessee." 

Then the trembling voice grew fainter, 

And the limbs refused to stand; 
One prayer to Jesus, and the soldier 

Glided to that better laud. 
When the flag went clown the river, 

Man and master both were free, 
While the ringdove's note was mingled 

With the rippling Tennessee. 



HOFFENSTEIN'S BUGLE. 

"Mr. Hoffenstein," said Herman, as he folded up a pair of pants, and 
placed them on a pile, "if you don't haf any objections I vould like to get 
from de store avay von efening, und go init de soldiers to de Spanish Fort." 

"Veil, Herman, I dinks you had better keep away from de soldiers," replied 
Hoffenstein, "und stay mit de store, because, you know, you don't can put any 
confidence mit de soldiers. I vill dell you vy. Von day vile I vas in Vicks- 
burg, during de var, a cockeyed soldier came in my store mit an old bugle in 
his hand, und he looks around. I asks him vot he vants, und he buys a couple 
of undershirts, den he dells me to keep his bundle un de bugle behind de coun- 
ter until he comes back. After de cockeyed soldier vent de store ow et, some more 
soldiers come in und vak all around, vile dey looks at de goods. 'Shentlemen,' 
I says, 'do you want anyding?' 'Ve are shust looking to see vot you haf,' said 
one uf dem, unci after a vile anodcler says: ' Bill, shust look dere at de bugle, de 
very cling de captain told us to get. You know ve do n't haf any bugle in our 
company for dree months. How much you ask for dat bugle?' I dells dem dat 
I can 't sell de bugle because it pelongs to a man vot shust vent ow et. 'I vill gif 
you fifty dollars for it,' says de soldier, pulling his money owet. I dells him I 
don't can sell it because it vas n't mine. 'I vill give you a hundred dollars,' he 
said. My gr-r-acious, Herman, I vants to sell de bugle so bad dat I vistles. De 
soldier dells me vile dey vos leaving de store clat if I buys de bugle of de man 
vot owns it, dey vill gif me one hundred und dvvendy-five dollars for it. I dell 
dem I vill do it. I sees a chance, you know, Hermau, to make some money by 
de oberation. Ven de cockeyed soldier comes back he says, ' Git me my bundle 
und bugle, I got to go to de camp.' I says. 'My frent, don't you vant to sell 
your bugle?' He dells me no, und I says, 'My little boy, Leopold, vot plays in 
de store, sees de bugle unci he goes all around crying shust as loud' as he can, 
because he don't get it. Six times I takes him in de back yard und vips him, 
unci he comes right back unci cries for de bugle. It shows, you know, how 
much drouble a man vill haf mit a family. I vill gif you den dollars for it 
shust to please little Leopold.' De soldier von't take it, unci at last I offers him 




FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. 109 

fifty dollars, mid he says, 'Veil, I vill dake fifty dollars, because I can't vaste 
any more time, I haf to go to de camp.' After he had gone avay I goes to de 
door und vatches for de soldiers vat van ted de bugle. I sees dem passing along 
de street, und I says, 'My f rents, I haf got de bugle,' und dey say, 'Veil, then, 
vy don't you blow it?'^ My gr-r-acious, Herman, vat yon dink? All dem sol- 
diers belong to de same crowd, und dey make de trick to sviudle me. Levi 
Cohen, across de street, he finds it out, und efery day he gets boys to blow horns 
in front of my store, so as to make me dink I vas svindled. Herman. I dink 
you had better stay mit de store." 



DOT MAID MIT HAZEL HAIR. 

Dalk not to me 'bout maidens rare 

Mit skin of bearly hue; 
Dhere vas ndt any can combare 

Mit one I hafe in view. 

She 's gentle like der soft gazelle. 

Her face vas awful fair; 
She has two auburn eyes of blue. 

Und hazel vas her hair. 

Her voice vas ridch like any ding, 

Her mout vas like der rose; 
Her cheeks, dey ploomp, shust like der beach. 

Und dimpled vas her nose. 

Her hands und feet vas shmall und neat, 

Und vhen dot maiden sings, 
Dhose little birds, dey glose dheir eyes 

Und flop dheir little vings. 

I 'm goin' to dook dot leetle maid 

Some day to peen my vife. 
Und make her happy as I can 

Der balance of her life. 

Und vhen ve 'em settled down for goot 

I '11 show you somedings rare, 
Two shmiling auburn eyes of plue 

Und shplendid hazel hair. 



VOMAN'S RIGHDTS. 

I do n't vas preaching voman's righdts, 

Or any ding like dot; 

Und I like to see all peoples 

Shust condented mit dheir lot: 

Budt I vants to contradict dot chap 

Dot made dis leedle shoke, 

A voman vas der glingiug vine 

Und man der shturdy oak. 

Berhaps somedimes dot may be drue, 

Budt den dimes oudt of nine, 

I find me oudt dot man himself 

Vas peen der glingiug vine: 

Und vhen hees friends dey all vas gone 

Und he vas shust tead broke, 

Dots vhen der voman shteps rihdt in 

Und peen der shturdy oak. 



HO TWENTY LESSONS IN READING, 

Shust go owit to der pase ball grounds 
Und see dhose shturdy oaks, 
All plandet round ubon der seats; 
Shust hear dheir laughs and shokes: 
Dhen see dhose vomans at der tubs, 
Mit clothes oudt on der lines, 
Yhich vas der shturdy oak, mine friendts, 
Und vhich der glinging vines ? 

Ven sickness in der household conies, 
Und veeks und veeks he stays, 
Who vas it fighdts him mit out resdt 
Dose veary nighdts und days ? 
Who peace und comfort alvays prings, 
Und cools dot fefered prow ? 
More like it vas der tender vine 
Dot oak he glings to now. 
Man vants but leetle here pelow 
Der boet von time said. 
• Dhere 's leetle dot man he do n't vant 
I diuk it means inshtead; 
Und ven der years keep rolling on, 
Der cares and droubles pringing, 
He vants to pe der shturdy oak 
Und also do der glinging. 

Maybe vhen oaks dey gling some more, 

Und don't so shturdy peen, 

Der glinging vines dhey have some chance 

To help run life's machine; 

In helt and sickness, slioy und pain, 

In calm or shtormy redder, 

T vas bedder dot dhose oaks und vines 

Should alvays gling togedder. 



SAM'S LETTER. 

I wonder who w-wote me this letter. I thuppose the b-best way to f-find 
out ith to open it and thee. ( Opens letter.) Thome lun-lunatic hath w-witten 
me this letter. He hath w-witten it upthide down. I wonder if he th-thought 
1 wath going to w-wead it thanding on my head. Oh, yeth, 1 thee: I had it 
trt-turned upthide down. "Amewica." Who do I know in Amewica? I am 
glad he hath g-given me hith addwess anyhow. Oh, yeth, I thee, it ith from 
Tham. I alwaths know Tham's handwriting when I thee hith name at the 
b-bottom of it. "My dear bwother — " Tham alwayths called me bwother. 
I-I thuppose iths because hith m-mother and my mother wath the thame wo- 
man, and*"we never had any thisters. When we were boyths we were ladths 
together. They used to ge-get off a pwoverb when they thaw uth corn-coming 
down the stweet. It ith vwery good, if I could only think of it. I can never 
wecollect anything that I can't we-wemember. Iths — it iths the early bir-bird 
— iths the early bir-bird that knowths iths own father. What non-nonthenths 
that iths ! How co-could a bir-bird know iths own father? Iths a withe — iths 
a withe child — iths a withe child that geths the worn. T-that's not wite. 
What nonthenths that iths ! No pa-pawent would allow hiths child to ga-gather 
woms. Iths a wyme. Iths fish of-of a feather. Fish of a fea — What non- 
nonthense ! for fish don't have feathers. Iths a bir-bird — iths b-birds of a 
feather — b-birds of a — of a feather flock together. B-birds of a feather! 
Just as if a who-who-whole flock of b-birds had only one f-feather. The\ '<l 
all catch cold, and only one b-bird c-could have that f-feather, and he 'd fly side- 



FOR USE IN NORMAL INSTITUTES. HI 

withse. What eon-confounded nonthense that iths ! Flock to-together ! Of 
courthse th-they'd flock together. Who ever her-heard of a bird being such a 
f-fool as to g-go into a c-corner and flo-flock by himself? "I wo-wote you a 
letter thome time ago — " Thath's a lie: he d-didn't wi-wite me a letter. If 
he had witten me a letter he would have posted it. and I would have g-got it; 
so. of course, he didn't post it. and then he didn't wite it. Thath 's ea<y. Oh, 
yeths. I thee: "but I dwopped it into the potht-potht-office forgetting to diwect 
it." I wonder who the d-dic-dickens got that letter. I wonder if the poth- 
pothman iths gwoin' awound inquiring for a f-fellow without a name. I won- 
der if there iths a f-fellow without any name. If there iths any fellow without 
any name, how doeths he know who he iths himthelf ? I-I wonder if thuch a 
fellow could get mawaid. How could he ask hiths wife to take hiths name if 
he h-had no name ? Thath 's one of thothse things no fellow can f-find out. 
**I have just made a startling dithcovery." Tham's alwayths d-doing thome- 
thing. "I have dithcovered that my mother iths — that m-my mother ith not 
my m-mother: that a — the old nurse iths my m-mother. and that you are not 
my b-bwother. and a — tha-that I was changed at my birth." How c-can a fel- 
low be changed at hith b-birtb '? If he iths not himthelf, who ith he ? If 
Tham's m-mother iths not hith m-mother, and the nurthse iths hith mother, and 
Tham ith n't my bwother. who am I ? That 's one of thothse things that no 
fel-fellow can find out. "I have p-purchased an ethstate som-somewhere — " 
Dothn't the id-idiot know wh-where h-he has bought it '? Oh. yeths: "on the 
bankths of the M-M-Mithithippi," Wh-who iths M-Mithithippi ? I g-gueths 
ith's Tham's m-mother-in-law. Tham's got mawied. He th-thayths he felt 
v-vewy ner-nervous. He alwayths waths a lucky fellow getting th-things he 
did n't want, and had n't any use for. 

Thpeaking of mother-in-lawths. I had a f wiend who had a mother-in-law, and 
he didn't like her pwetty well: and she f-felt the thame way towards him: and 
they went away on a st-steamer acwoths the ocean, and they got wecked. catht 
away on a waft, and they floated awound with their feet in the water and other 
amuthements, living on thuch things ath they could pick up — thardinths. ith- 
cweam. owanges. and other c-canned goodths that were floating awound. When 
that waths alf gone, everybody ate everybody else. F-nnally only himthelf and 
hiths m-mother-in-law waths left, and they pl-played a game of c-cards to thee 
who thould be eaten up — himthelf or hiths mother-in-law. A-a — the mother- 
in-law lotht. H-he treated her handthomely. only he strapped h-her flat on her 
back, and c-carved her gently. H-h-he thays that waths the f- first time that he 
ever weally enjoyed a m-mother-in-law. 



A MEDLEY. 

Oxce upon a midnight dreary. 
While I pondered, weak and weary. 

Over mauy a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, 
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping. 
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. 
;; Tis some visitor." I muttered, ••tapping at my chamber door — 

Only this, and nothing more." 
Ah ! distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December. 
And each separate, dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor: 
Eagerly I wished the morrow, vainly I had sought to borrow 
From my books surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore. 
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore, 

Xameless here forevermore. 
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain 
Thrilled me for — Cannon to right of them. 

Cannon to left of them. 

Cannon in front of them 

Voile ved and thundered; 



112 TWENTY LESSONS IN READING. 

Stormed at with shot and shell, 

Boldly they rode and well ! 

Into the jaws of Death, 

Into the mouth of hell, 

Rode the six hundred ! 

Flashed all their sabres bare, 

Flashed as they turned in air, 

Sabering the gunners there, 

Charging an army, while 

All the world wondered — 

If the little, chatterin', sassy wren, 

No bigger 'n my thumb, knows more'n men, 

Jest show me that ! ur prove 't the bat 

Hez got more brains than 's in my hat 

An' I '11 back — Ruffians, back ! nor dare to tread 

Too near the body of my dead, 

Nor touch the living boy; I stand 

Between him and your lawless band. 

Take me, and bind these arms, these hands, 

With Russia's heaviest iron bands, 

And drag me to Siberia's wilds to perish ! 

Take — the rope and throw across the top, 

And I will go and tie that end around my waist. 

Well, every woman to her taste, you always would 

be tightly laced. 
Below the armpits tied around, she takes her sta- 
tion on the ground, 
While on the roof, beyond the ridge, he shovels 

clear the lower edge. 
But sad mischance ! the loosened snow 
Comes sliding down to plunge below, 
And as he tumbles with the slide 
Up goes Rachel on 't other side — of 
the haymow, about five or six feet up; now, I nefer vas very big up and down, 
but I vas pretty big all de vay round, and I cood n't reach up to vere dat hen 
make her uesht in de side of de haymow, dill I get a parrel to standt on. Veil, 
ven I climet on de parrel und my head rise up by de nesht dot old hen giv sich 
a bick dot my nose run all over my face mit plood, und ven I dodge back, dat 
parrel he preak, und in 1 vent, und I fit so elite I cood n't get oud efervay; my 
vest vas bushed vay up under mine armholes; ven I fouud I vas elite stuck I 
call "Katrina! Katrina!" uud ven she coom und see me stuck in dat parrel, 
mit my face all — 

In the wild March morning 

I heard the angels call, 
It was when the moon was shining, 

And the dark was over all. 
The bees began to whisper, 

And the winds began to roll, 
And in the wild March morning 

I heard them call — Darius ! Darius ! 
how do you like flying? ha! ha! Well, I like flyin' well enough, but there 
isn't so very much tun when you come — into my kitchen smiling, and says, 
kind o' scared like, here's Fing Wing, Kitty, and you'll have too much sinse to 
mind his being a little strange. Wid that she shoots the eloore, and I, mis- 
trusting if I was tidied up sufficient for me foine b'y wid his paper collar, looks 
up, and howly fathers ! may I never breathe anither breath, but there stud a rale 
hay then Chinezer, a-grinnin' like he'd just come off a tay box, and a black pig- 
tail hangin' down from behind, winch was pieced out wid some black stuff, the 
haythen chate, wid his feet stuck into the haythenist shoes you ever set your 
eyes <>n. hi- eyes cocked upward like two poomp handles. 



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